Email Fluff
by mercva
Summary: Chiefly snippets that I've posted to Rorsch's group without permission, catalogued into one story. Well, I call them snippets, they aren't even drabbles really, just fluff...
1. Chapter 1

So I was watching the music vid for Jesus Built My Hotrod, and wondered if wizards had any equivalent of the dragster for the twenty-something male wizard overdosing on testosterone. Partway through imagining it, our own Calum Wallace came to mind. Hope you don't mind the mention!

* * *

Ron stared at Harry's broom. "Mate... please tell me that your Nimbus is in your trunk or something."

Harry kept looking at it with a goofy grin on his face. The Nimbus looked... well, slick was a good word, all clean lines, neatly trimmed twigs, polished so much so that you could eat your dinner off it. The broom he was currently holding was barely a broom - it was, in fact, a two by two length of Pinus Radiata that looked like it had been attacked with a chisel in a lumber yard, then sent directly to Harry.

"You don't understand, mate," Harry said. "There was this guy who came to visit during the holidays - he had this really rusty old Jaguar V12 that Uncle Vernon ranted about all day after he came."

Ron took a second glance. The crude carvings on it seemed to glow with power and spellwork. The twins came over, and gasped simultaneously.

"Harry!"

"Mate!"

"You HAVE to tell us how you got Wallace Calumny to give you one of HIS brooms!," they finished together.

Ron choked, and began to cough. After recovering, he stared with equal reverence as the other three at it. "You mean that's a HOT B-ROD?"

Harry nodded proudly. "Sorry Ron, but I'm dropping Divinations and picking up Ancient Runes so I can try and make my own brooms, too."

"You're going to win us the Quidditch Cup for the next five years with that," Ron breathed. "If it doesn't catch fire first or you don't plow it into the stands."


	2. Tom Riddle and the Downrising of the Dar

There are better black metal bands than Dimmu Borgir, undoubtedly. But very few have their almost instinctive grip of the imagery in the music videos, and their flair for the dramatic. See the video "The Serpentine Offering" if you want to see the inspiration for this.

* * *

The cries of torment was the first thing that was noticed.

The door to the Leaky Cauldron slammed open, dust of ages drifting down from the rafters from the impact. First to come through was six men, clad in heavy black-enameled plate armour, with cloaks and hoods hiding their faces. They held long twohanded greatswords with both hands, their posture giving no doubt as to skill at arms.

Second through was a man in brown robes, with a wide black stole around his neck, hanging to his ankles. Thick smoke billowed around him, aromatic and heavy, rising from the censer that he swung from side to side.

Third came a man in chains, that people gasped and pointed at, and hid behind the tables, lest he see their faces and remember their names. Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, Dark Lord. Trailing behind him, crying and weeping, were witches and wizards, some memorable, some not, all cradling left arms on which the Dark Mark was displayed, drawing the eye.

Last came another man in brown robes with a black stole and a censer, accompanied by a figure in black robes, with black hood, his features as hidden as those of the soldiers at the front.

The door to the alley behind the Leaky Cauldron crumbled to dust at the soldier's approach, and the ancient brickwork crumbled at a heavy blow from the lead soldier's sword. The train pressed forward, crowds of curious wizards trailing fearfully behind. They stopped on the steps of Gringotts Bank, where the men clad in black turned to face the crowds.

Students, purchasing supplies for Hogwarts, crowded behind the adult wizards who pressed them to the back, for their own protection.

The leader in black began to speak in a foul, demonic tongue that grated to the ears of all who heard it, causing depression, and a wilting of the soul. Translating, the priest-like man who accompanied him began to follow suit.

"This man you see has claimed under false pretences to be the mighty Lord of the Dark. This man is a liar and nothing more than a madman, to claim to be the leader of those who gave you Veritaserum, those who gave you the Animagus, those who gave you everything of independant thought and power.

"As punishment, first those who chained themselves to him must perish."

The soldiers raised their swords, as the chains around the deatheaters pulled tight, drawing them into a tight cluster of humanity. Black fire rose around their feet, and the more fearful of them began to scream. Flesh blistered, fat beginning to melt on still living tissue as the innocent shuddered in horror, adding their screams to the cacophony of the damned.

The men clad in black were impassive.

Once his followers were dead, Riddle was forced to stand up straight as the chains around him pulled taut. The leader spoke again in that demonic tongue, his priest translating.

"The leader's life is now forfeit, his power, however, shall go to his enemy, that he might writhe in torment knowing that his life's work, his life's ambition, all he has ever striven for shall go to him that he despised the most."

Riddle made no sound at first, but as the more perceptive of the onlookers gasped, the skin over his bones began to ripple as the orators continued.

"His bones are transmuting to glass, his blood to acid, his muscles to salt, but he will still live on through the will of the True Lord of the Dark, that his knowledge of his failure is not lost on a soul wailing in mindless damnation in the Lake of Fire."

At the back of the crowd Harry Potter, under guard by Moody, McGonagall and Lupin, screamed briefly before falling to the ground in an unconscious lump, absorbing Riddle's lifework and power.


	3. A Little Spice

Summary: Muggles have R-rated fantasy, witches and wizards have better.

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this.

Pre-fic comments:

The initial idea came to me while listening to Stoner rock. (Monster Magnet FTW.)

I only started typing after getting sauced on the good stuff (a bit of rum, a bit of whiskey (scotch AND tennessee), and absinthe.)

* * *

"James! James!" Sirius roared, slamming the front door open behind him. Dumbledore followed at a more sedate pace, picking up the hem of his robes as he

stepped over the remains of the door.

"Jaaaames! You're not going to believe this!" he continued. Not in the living room, not in the kitchen, Sirius' feet continued flat out towards the bedroom.

Somehow, despite being more than a hundred years older and far, far less spry, Dumbledore managed to amble along a meter behind him.

Sirius kicked open the door to James' bedroom, and immediately wished he hadn't. His eyes opened wide in reflex in complete opposition to his increasing wish

to close them in shock. There were some things about his best mate that he was better off not knowing, really.

James, transfigured into the form of an Incubus (complete with horns, batwings, hooves and a tail - he was nothing if not complete), slammed his hips into

Lily's from behind with a final roar, unloading into what Sirius' boonswaggled eye perceived as a High Elf, with long, long tapering ears and vividly glowing

eyes.

As the couple came down from their climax, they became increasingly aware of the two others at their door. Lily, overcome with Feminine Fury, spoke first.

"SIRIUS ORION BLACK! GET THE _HELL_ OUT OF MY BEDROOM!"

* * *

A month later... -

"Good news, Padfoot!" James grinned widely.

"Really?" Sirius asked.

"I'm going to be a daddy," James announced proudly. "Lily missed her period and did some test, and I'm going to be a daddy!"

Sirius almost said 'With all that you two carried on I'm not surprised', but threw up in his mouth at what he'd run into a few times. James had tried to

explain it to him, but he honestly felt he was better off not knowing some things.

"Congratulations, Prongs," Sirius cheered. "Moony can be the responsible uncle, I can be the corrupting influence, and Wormtail can be... well, some other

guy."

* * *

Eight months later -

"JAMES POTTER! I'M GOING TO FLAY YOU ALIVE AND ROAST YOUR BALLS AND-AAAAGGGGGHHHH!"

"Is she really going to do all that?" a frightened James asked the nurse in a near inaudible whisper.

"Probably not," the amused witch said.

A loud cry announced the end of Lily's (immediate) labours.

"Congratulations, Mister and Mrs Potter," the midwife said. "It's a... uh... son, I think."

* * *

Lily sat at the table in the kitchen to her and James' little cottage, the baby suckling at her breast.

"I don't understand," James said, staring. His offspring had wings, a tail, horns... even hooves!"

"I think I do," Dumbledore said. "During your... ahem... more adventurous alone time, shall we say, did the two of you forget protective charms in addition

to your transfigurations? I'm not condemning being so... er... adventurous, my own brother prefers the company of shall we say less than human females, but

proper precautions must be taken."

"I don't understand," Lily said.

"Didn't you cast the charms?" James asked, confused. "It's the woman's job, that is, your mother should have taught you that."

"My Muggle mother?" Lily asked, one eyebrow arched. Harry finished feeding, and she began to gently burp him, patting him carefully between his two tiny

wings.

"Oh," James said in a tiny voice.

"What happened, Headmaster?" Lily asked in a geniunely confused voice.

Dumbledore coughed. "Well, when two consenting adults, er, roleplay, I believe the muggles call it, with magical help, it can have very strong magical

repercussions, which traditionally have been averted by use of the witch of contraceptive charms."

James blushed bright red.


	4. Demonitely Not Bad

Summary: There may have been some basis behind the witchhburning "DemoN!" paranoia.

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this.

Pre-fic comments:

Readers with long memories will recall I mused on this idea earlier. Someone went into an Amber Court crossover thing. I have no idea, never read any Amber Court books at all.

Dunno why, but these days I have to be pretty much tanked before I consider writing anything. Unless I get both sloshed and inspired, don't expect no more.

Check this out first: .com/Naga

* * *

Harry looked on with amazement. Through the small door of the truly grubby looking pub (he felt that Aunt Petunia would have had a minor heart murmur, at the least, on encountering it) he could see... people, for lack of a better word, who looked both ordinary and truly extraordinary.

Roughly half looked like normal people like you might encounter on the street and say hello to, while the other half looked monstrous. Some looked half-animal, half human, some looked mostly insectoid, and others looked bizarre, for lack fo a better word.

Harry tugged at a sleeve. "Hagrid?"

"Yeh, Harry?" Hagrid whispered. Probably only half the pub-goers could hear him.

"Why do all these people look so... strange?" Harry asked, trying to be polite.

Hagrid nodded, as if remembering something. "Yeh have to re'member, Harry, a human body can onl'y handle so much power."

"How do we get away with doing big spells then, Hagrid?" Harry asked.

"Easy answer, Harry, we dont," Hagrid answered. "When Wizards (and witches o'course) do the 'eavy duty magic, it changes 'em, ye might say, to summat capable of handlin' th' power."

"You mean that... cat people and stuff are capable of handling lots of magical power better?" Harry asked.

"Yeh might say so," Hagrid equivocated. "We've still got ta get yeh school supplies, come on."

* * *

Harry stared at the goblins of Gringotts. "Are you sure they're not wizards, Hagrid?"

"Yeh, they're goblins, Harry," Hagrid said in a reassuring tone.

* * *

He decided that the teachers at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry deserved a second look (and a long, vaguely insulting one at that.)

The Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore (he of Hagrid's allegiance) was of a decidedly avian caste, with long, thin red and gold feathers for eyebrows and hair. The deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall was somewhat more plebian, being of a feline disposition with big cat ears, slit eyes, and fur for hair. Claws for fingernails finished her appearance.

Further down the line, Professors Sinistra and Snape both appeared to be bat-like demons, with the rider that Snape appeared more badly disposed, Sinistra's bat ears and nose making her appear endearing rather than Snape's foreboding. Quirrel's mouse-nose and ears did not make Harry good-minded about his ability to teach a discipline based around defiance, while Flitwick, the general purpose Charms teacher, was more endearing in his small, gnomelike appearance than menacing.

Harry had made fast friends in the scholastic Hermione Granger and the easy to anger, easy to acquience Ron Weasley.

* rest of year goes as per normal, with Quirrel appearin more malign than usual due to mouse-appearance *

* * *

Year 3: Harry Potter and the Secret of Lily Evans3

Harry stared. He had asked the wolf-demon teacher Remus Lupin to teach him the dementor-repelling Charm Expecto Patronum, which apparently was of a high enough level to force the change from human to greater-than-human form. Debate raged in the wizarding world as to whether wolf-form demon-wizards were of high power and rage, or merely just werewolves, but Harry had decided to trust Lupin regardless. (Each month, Lupin barely managed to pass a Governor vote that would otherwise expell him.)

Green and purple scales had appeared on Harry's legs. This did not reassure Harry one bit.

On the one hand, on Harry's paternal line, which was well documented, there was a well established line from the deer Cervidae family. It was entirely possible that, like his father, Harry would have gotten a splendid rack of antlers. To his mild disappointment, he didn't get that.

Reading further on his parents, Harry found that his mother had often cast highlevel spells in front of witnesses, retaining her humanic form, leading them to believe that she was a high level Sorceress, unusual in a first-generation witch, leading many to believe that she was of an unusually powerful Family. It was not unusual, of course - many Squibs of high-family Demons, unable to attain their Greater-Than-Human Form, retired to the human world, resulting in high-demon witches or wizards - but was suspicious, since many flaunted their demonforms, rather than hid them.

The scales lining the outside of Harry's legs upon casting the highpower Expecto Patronum form therefore did not reassure Harry that he could cast the spell in question. It rather worried him as to his mother's lineage. He was mildly reassured but not entirely when he found out upon correspondence to a muggle Zoo that the scales and colouration corresponded to an Octiron King Cobra, subsisting mainly on snakes and magical snakes, but with decided differences despite the similarities.

When he finally mastered the Patronus spell, he ascended (as the wizarding world called it) into his Final Form, with no forcing that would have caused loss of power or form, into a male Naga form. Armoured in scales, draconic-serpentine-eel-like in appearance, he was highly unusual in his magical aptitude.

To Harry's great surprise, his Naga form was unusual in that it could perform magic at all, let alone in the vast quantities that he came to found normal while defeating the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. In return, he found it strange that the Naga were a true race (as opposed to the family-line type of Demon common in the wizarding world where a family might be composed of cat-form demons, while a race of that type did not exist.

Upon ascending, as it was known, to his Greater form while learning the high-power spell Expecto Patronum, Harry was extended the invitation to Naga society in the Pacific Ocean, and also extended the demand that he learn the demandind art of Illusion from the teachers of Hogwarts, who found it necessary that he could exist amongst Muggle society in the Dursley's care.


	5. Incapable 1

Summary: Actions do have consequences, you know. A lifetime of f-ing things up, fixed... in one...

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this.

Pre-fic comments:

Something that, again, has been ticking over slowly. I intend to post the second part of this later this week. The root idea is that, due to Harry's starvation on the part of the Dursleys, his body is stunted and produces magic in fits and starts, but not a consistantly large amount.

* * *

J K Rowling, "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets" :

For a split second, both Harry and Riddle, wand still raised, stared at it. Then, without thinking, without

considering, as though he had meant to do it all along, Harry seized the Basilisk fang on the floor next to him and

plunged it straight into the heart of the book.

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents, streaming over Harrys hands,

flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing and then

* * *

"I'll be back for you," Riddle hissed. "I'll be back, and I'll finish the job."

* * *

"I need to get ready for him," Harry insisted. The three of them were on the train back to Hogwarts, talking quietly

so as not to awaken the seemingly exhausted man sleeping in the corner of the train compartment. "Voldemort said

he'd be back to kill me!"

"Professor McGonagall already told us we were talking nonsense," Hermione pointed out. "You-Know-Who was probably

just trying to scare you, Harry."

"Well, it worked," Harry said, cross that his best friends were so disbelieving. "Can't we ask anyone else for

help?"

"The Ministry of Magic'll be no good," Ron offered. His Dad worked there. "They'll tell you either that you're

insane, or to tell the Aurors and they'll take care of it."

"Do you think that'll work?" Hermione asked. "The Aurors taking care of You-Know-Who if he comes back for Harry, I

mean."

"Hermione, you've read the books, you know what it was like when Harry defeated You-Know-Who," Ron said. "They'll be

as useful as... as... a not very useful thing.

'Tits on a bull', Harry thought to himself. He might've met Minister Fudge after he'd run away from the Dursleys,

but the man hadn't terribly impressed him.

"I think my brother Bill might know something, though," Ron continued.

"Isn't he the Cursebreaker for Gringotts, who works in Egypt?" Harry asked. He thought it a terribly cool job.

"Yeah," Ron said. "I think he said that they'd found some new, er, old spells and stuff in one of their digs, I

could write and ask if you want."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Hermione said, inner caution hammering at her. Curiousity overwhelmed it. "It

couldn't hurt to look into it, though."

* * *

Ron leafed through the thick sheaf of parchment. "I don't know if any of this is any good."

Hermione took it off him, and offered the poor owl a double helping of bacon. It looked exhausted. "Ron, you

couldn't possibly have read any of it. I'll look through and see if we can use anything."

"Are you sure you'll have time?" Harry asked doubtfully. "You've been awfully busy this year."

* * *

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Hermione said. The three of them were in an unused classroom, far away

from the normal rooms in the castle.

"I need to get some kind of help," Harry insisted. "You said that this spell would summon a Goddess of Healing and

Destruction."

"Well... yes..."

"There you go, then," Harry said. "Healing to make sure we can do the job, and destruction to get rid of Tom Marvolo

RIDDLE!"

Ron winced. "Now that I know who that is, that name sends shivers down my spine. Are you sure that you have to be

the one who does the... uh..."

"Possession, Ron," Hermione said impatiently. "But this is of a Goddess, so it should be okay."

"As long as we're all certain, then," Ron said. "Harry? You okay with this, mate?"

"Yeah, of course I am," Harry said impatiently. "You've practiced the words, Ron?"

"Yes, yes, I could say 'em in my sleep," Ron muttered, before beginning the chant.

Neither Harry nor Hermione could understand any of the words, spoken as it was in ancient Egyptian, but they could

feel the power building. Hermione knelt and Ron, not missing a beat in his lengthy incantation, stepped forwards to

place his hands on each side of her head.

Ron's speech finished with a loud, stacatto syllable, and Hermione's eyes snapped open.

/Who petitions me?/ she asked, in a strange voice that seemed a mix of two.

"I... I do," Harry asked, timid at first but gaining confidence. "Mighty Sekhmet, I need the power and ability to

destroy Tom Marvolo Riddle, a Dark Lord who is still in this world and seems undefeatable."

The sentience behind the no-longer-brown eyed girl looked him up and down. Harry could feel it almost stripping him

to the bone, and further, to the marrow within.

/You cannot./

"I need to!" Harry cried out.

/Your body is stunted, your magic dwarfed./

"I don't understand," Harry whispered, feeling humbled.

The Goddess explained further. /While you grew, you have been so deprived of both love and also food, that your body

struggles to produce magic at all./

"I've done spells!" Harry whispered again, his eyes growing suspiciously moist.

/Undoubtedly followed by lengthy rest,/ the Goddess said, almost with a snort.

"I need your help to improve," Harry pleaded.

/So be it./

Harry stared forward, unable to twitch a finger, as the Goddess materialised a bronze knife which she dragged across

his left neck artery, then his windpipe, severing it completely, then his right artery. Unable to draw breath,

feeling his head grow light with lack of oxygen, all he could do was trust in the deity.

Naturally, that was when Filch, accompanied by McGonagall on a nightly patrol, entered the room.


	6. Incapable 2

Summary: Actions do have consequences, you know. A lifetime of f-ing things up, fixed... in one...

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this.

Pre-fic comments:

"That's whiskey with an 'E', boyo!"

The problem with Part 1 (from my perspective) is that it tends to the openended, in the same way as Buffy the

Vampire Slayer's Halloween episode with Ethan Rayne. How many thousand-word 'fics' has that episode spawned...

Anyway. I've had two ideas, so I'll throw both up as possible continuations.

* * *

Harry gasped, drawing breath in through a cartilage route that had both been severed, yet never severed. But...

oddly, he realised that the rasp of it was wrong.

Hands rose to his windpipe, halted by the odd presence of bulges on his body where none had been before. Thin, yet

strong arms, halted by a large swelling on his stomach. Or... was he still a his?

Rising further, his arms halted again at... a /pair/ of lumps. Large, yet lithe lumps. Eyes opening, a horrible

suspicion arose that his insistant, increasingly panicking mind could not stifle.

"Goddess!" he hissed, in a feminine voice that did nothing to dullen his worry.

/Yes, Kitten?/

"I'm... I'm a girl!" Harry whispered, in that voice that unsettled him so. Even more so because it seemed his voice.

/Your old body was as useful as a dead reed to a sailor at sea in a hurricane./

"Why this body?" Harry said, on the brink of tears. Absently, in a distantly academic corner of his mind, he

wondered if it was due to the increasing hormone levels of this body.

/It was to die, being soulless, and this way I saved not one, but two lives./

"Soulless?" Harry asked.

/Power has it's price, and this child of mine bargained too far, calculated too badly./

"What am I, and how am I supposed to kill Voldemort in the body of a pregnant woman?" Harry said despondantly.

Depression began to settle on him like a thick wooly blanket on a hot summer's night.

/You are Bubasti, and powerful in magic,/ the Goddess said. /You bear one of my children, even as you yourself am

one, and you are loved by me./

"All I can do is go on," Harry whispered. Looking around... "What am I supposed to do with all these books and

potions components?"

/Learn from them, learn how to destroy Tom Marvolo Riddle, how to destroy a black mage with more than half a

century's advantage on you, and live on to become one who will make Me proud, raising children worthy of Me./

Wiping his nose, Harry gazed at his black fur a moment.

"All I can do is try. But... is it okay if I send Hermione, Ron, and the others an owl?"

/From Egypt? Poor bird. Ask if you want to have the English descend on you while studying both the deep magic, as

well as My people, as well as raising a fellow child of Mine./

* * *

Harry tried to gasp, but found his breath struck from his chest. Arms reaching desperately, he felt a long, thick

needle piercing through his chest. Disregarding anything he had learnt in first aid at primary school, he tried

desperately to pull himself off it, marvelling as he felt flesh knit behind him.

Falling a short distance, he gasped and drew air in. As he recuperated, lying on his back, Harry raised a... hand...

and stared at the taloned, scaled appendage.

Pain made itself known. Pain from something he had never had - something/s/. He rolled onto his belly, standing on

all four, and turned his head on a strangely flexible neck to marvel at... wings, large, beautiful, marvellous

batwings, mounted upon...

"A black dragon," Harry whispered. "I'm a black dragon."

"You are alive," a voice nearby whispered in hushed tones. "I've already made Grulloc the Dragonkiller pay for

killing you and my other children, but... you yet live!"

Harry turned his head to see a black-haired human, who rose from his form to become a massive black dragon, larger

still than Harry's own new form, and he could feel a strange attachment rise in his chest.

"You are... my father?" Harry marvelled. "But what am I?"

"I am Sabellian, and you are my son," the black dragon rumbled. "Come."

* * *

Post-fic:

With regards to the last possibility... yes, I know that black dragons in modern Azeroth are supposed to be vicious

and selfish, but even so, Baron Sablemane has been dwelling on his slain children in the Blade's Edge Mountains for

some time.

As for the first possibility, I've always had a soft spot for cats, and the Bubasti of White Wolf Publishing's

Bastet: Nine Tribes of Twilight always seemed to me to have good possibilities for a HP crossover.

Anyone reading this who can write good fics, feel free to pick any of these up. If you want to write your own Part 2

to this, go for it. All I want is to read more good fics. If this inspires you to write your own fic along these

lines, send me a copy.


	7. Just Lion Around

Summary: Sphinxes are known for many things. One of which -

Rating: M, most likely.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this.

Pre-fic comments:

Once again, I only started to write once on the good stuff.

The initial idea came from absolutely humiliating Draco through his own foolishness, and was further refined when I thought about the Egyptian Sphinx for a second.

The dirty portion, however, came from flicking through... well. NOT SAFE FOR WORK: Google foxxfire. NOT safe for kids or underage or non-perverted people, either.

This is rough as hell. If someone wants to take the idea and run with it, go for it, just do it justice.

* * *

Dumbledore stood up. "I am pleased to announce that, in addition to hosting the Triwizard Tournament, Hogwarts is also privileged to have Archmagus Ubasti, giving lectures on transfiguration!"

Hermione gasped out loud, then fainted.

"Professor McGonagall will be taking names of those who wish to attend the Archmagus lectures," Dumbledore continued, before starting on explaining the Triwizard Tournament.

* * *

Harry and Ron both found themselves sitting watching the sleek, mysterious Archmagus during the lecture. Hermione hadn't given them the option not to.

"Before I start on explaining the range of my lessons," the woman spoke, "I'd like to... recruit, for lack of a better word, for an experimental program. I am currently working on developing an entirely new race within the known bounds of magic."

"Another kind of house elf, I bet," Draco Malfoy whispered loudly to Crabbe and Goyle, undoubtedly attending through instruction from his father.

"On the contrary," Ubasti said. "My people will be highly capable of magic, to an extent unknown by what is commonly called 'Wizard', with a greater still capability for ritual magic. They will be stronger, healthier, and longer lived than wizards."

Hermione's hand shot up.

"Yes, Miss... Granger, is it?"

"Yes, Archmagus, I'd like to volunteer for your project."

Harry, Ron, Draco, and many other hands went up as well.

Ubasti smiled mysteriously. "There are disclaimers, forms and other legal documents that you will all have to sign, of course. See me after the lecture. Now, nearly all of what you have been taught so far has been temporary Transfiguration, but I will teach..."

* * *

Harry looked at the pages. "Let's see... I need to have the Dursley's sign this, since they're my guardians."

Ron pulled a face. "Sorry to hear that, mate. They'll never sign."

Harry shrugged. "It... depends. If I get Uncle Vernon in a good mood, if I tell him the right way... it all depends."

"What do you mean, Harry?" Hermione asked, intrigued by this somewhat Slytherin side of Harry she hadn't seen before.

"When I was six, Uncle Vernon gave me permission to go to a school trip to the nearest zoo, and when I was seven he refused a school trip to the nearby recycling centre," Harry said. "The difference was, he'd just had a raise for the zoo trip."

"Oh," Hermione said. "Would it help if I asked my parents to forward it through the Royal Mail?"

"Aren't your parents both medical Doctors?" Harry asked, knowing such a thing would impress the Dursleys.

* * *

The visitor had taken over a set of rooms, including two specially set up Ritual Chambers beneath Hogwarts, both of which were aligned on intersections of some of the many leylines that crossed beneath the ancient school.

Harry and Ron knew this, not through choice, but through Hermione drumming it into their heads. They looked around. A small, but sizable contingent of both students and alumni were gathered here for the ritual. Some of the Slytherin members were notable for their absence, despite their expressed interest. The trio were of the somewhat cynical opinion that it was through orders from a higher, darker authority above those students.

Ubasti, dressed in flowing white robes of an unrecognisable cut, spoke before the gathering of people. "You have gathered here because you wish to become more than just wizards, more than just humans who can do magic."

She looked across the group. None of them spoke up, scared somewhat by the inherent mysticism in the air. "There are two chambers here - the Chamber of Maahes, and the Chamber of Sekhmet. Our people will have to fight for their right to live in this society, and our Gods will help us. Move, into the chambers."

Hermione confidently walked into the Chamber of Sekhmet. Several other Hogwarts student followed her, including Malfoy, Ron, Parvati, and Padma. Harry, on the other hand, decided to walk his own road and entered Maahes' Room. Neville, trusting more in Harry's integrity, than Hermione's intellect, followed him, as well as Ginny Weasley.

Looking around, Harry saw that the Ritual Chamber of Maahes was thickly coated with hieroglyphs, and tracings of power. As the many sources of power drew into alignment, power flowed through the leylines, and into the two Chambers.

None of them experienced any pain, discomfort or displeasure.

* * *

Harry woke up, feeling... completely at ease with himself, yet... unsettled. Yes. At ease, yet uneasy.

He raised a hand to get up off the floor, but stopped when his hand rose into view. That... was not a hand.

The golden furred hand-paw moved as his hand moved, Harry noted silently, eyes opening in wonder. Muscles flexed, and he saw claws come from the tips of them in response to his unspoken queries.

Rising to his feet, he realised that his legs were not made the same way as human legs, all feet, knees, calves and thighs, but rather as a cats, all long feet, twin joints of both high ankle and knee, and coiled, strong thigh. Looking at them made him increasingly aware of his now large nose, muzzle and, as he lifted his new paw (which felt increasingly less-strange) large fangs.

Hearing rising noises of others around him, his ears flicked around, shifting his new... mane? as they did so.

But becoming even more apparent than that was a rising commotion that could be heard even behind the stout walls of both the Chamber of Maahes, and the Chamber of Sekhmet.

* * *

"I'm a GIRL!" a once-Draco Malfoy shrieked at the top of her now strong lungs.

The equally leoninely female Archmagus Ubasti nodded, seemingly impervious to the vitriol. "You entered Sekhmet's Room, Malfoy, the Room of the Scarlet Lady. If you wished to remain male, why didn't you enter the Scarlet Lord's chamber?"

"Really, Draco," Hermione huffed. "It was all in the papers and documents that the Archmagus gave us to read and sign. Didn't you read them?"

Harry decided to take the wounded silence from the lioness as an admission of not reading. Harry was intensely glad that he /had/.

"My Father will hear of this!" Draco hissed, displaying an impressive vocal range. Harry found himself wondering at the range, then blushed and put his hands

over his crotch as casually as he could manage. "You WILL change me back!"

Ubasti shrugged with a feline laziness. "He won't have a leg to hop around on in court - he himself signed those papers which are not only ironclad, they are also watertight. And as for reversing - there won't be another conjunction of power like this for... two centuries, at least."

The rage shining through Draco's eyes reminded Harry strongly of how the Goddess Sekhmet had been known as the 'Lady of Slaughter', according to Ubasti's papers. "You are going to teach me the best glamours that magic can conjure, then!"

"Oh, I could," Ubasti said, eyes narrowing in increasing anger on her own part. She had given the boy numerous warnings, both written and vocal, and he had come of his own volition. "Even Dumbledore himself would not be able to tell that you are greater than human. Until the Heat came."

"Heat?" Draco asked, confusion derailing fury for a mere moment.

Hermione sighed, dragging a hand over her own face for a moment. "You really didn't read anything, did you? All female lions go through Heat, when they are overridden by a powerful mating instinct."

She promptly blushed, proving that she was still Hermione.

Harry looked over at the two Weasley siblings again. Ron was still squeezing uh, her, new, bountiful mammaries in bemused be wonderment, while Ginny Weasley was still, er, exploring new territory (not getting into M-rated yet, though - Harry had his wand in hand if that happened.)


	8. Patrons

Summary: The time always comes to pay the piper.

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this.

Pre-fic comments:

True to form, a couple beers are in me at the time of typing. I've also got another idea at the back of my mind, where Lily is part of the Brood of Onyxia (overcome with remorse, very very unusual black dragon). Haven't thought of anything decent for it.

Kicking off at Harry's first excursion to Diagon. As far as I know, you can't do small caps in normall ascii text. Be imaginative.

* * *

"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

Harry's mouth was wide in amazement.

"Hagrid, do they normally have Gods shopping here?"

The shops all around were, Harry noticed, highly unusual. The one in front sold cauldrons, another sold herbs, dragon livers, beetle eyes, another sold what looked like wooden sticks, but they all paled into insignificance besides the three standing what looked like a foot off the ground - not that they needed it; the tall figures would have easily seen over the top of the crowd had their feet been on the ground.

"THE GODDESS OF MAGIC HAS FAILED," one figure shrouded in black intoned. The words swathed or covered in black didn't even float across the back of Harry's mind.

"She has dissipated, poisoned by her followers," a lush, full figured woman clothed in white linen, lots of Egyptian jewels, all of which vanished besides the fact that she was a woman with the head of a snake - a cobra, unless Harry missed his guess.

"The mysteries must remain in this world," another woman said. She was tall, Grecian in appearance, and had on armour, and a snake coiled around her spear.

"I know who they are," Harry said, brow furrowed in confusion.

"'Oo are they, 'Arry?" Hagrid whispered, meaning that the three deities probably could not hear, but most likely could.

"The one in black is Death himself," Harry said, "the one with the head of the snake is, uh, /probably/ Wadjet, the Eye of Ra, and the one in armour is... um... Pallas Athene, I think."

A blonde man, imperious in his manner, forced his way to the front of the crowd. "I demand that you remove your wards preventing those better than you from performing magic!"

A spear waved lazily at the man, who found himself frozen. "You dare question Athena, the Goddess of wisdom? It was the neglect and abuse of your own goddess that caused your society's loss, not ours!"

Harry timidly put his hand up. "Uh, what do you mean? Where does magic come from?"

The snakeheaded one turned to look at him, and Harry felt... appreciated for the first time in his life, as opposed to abused or blindly praised.

"Despite what these ignorant worms believe," Wadjet said, "Magic does not come from wands, nor does it come from within them. It comes - came, rather - from the Nameless Goddess."

"SHE CAME TO MY DOMAIN HAVING BEEN NEGLECTED, UNWORSHIPPED, AND POISONED FOR CENTURIES," Death continued. "EVER SINCE THE WARLOCK MERLIN POPULARISED HIS IDEAS."

"Be that as it may, you WILL restore our magic!" a rotund man in an ugly little hat said. "I am Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic!"

"You speak that way to me?" the snakeheaded one said, amused. "I, Wadjet, Eye of Ra, Serpent Mother, Lady of Magic? My name is so ancient that the symbol for it /means/ Goddess and you dare to think that the opinions of someone with the lifespan of the tick on a dog overrule my own?"

"But-," another man interrupted, yet again.

A wave of her hands silenced all the witches and wizards. "Your meaningless prattle bores me. Either approach our temples in petition, live in hope that we will perhaps cast pity on you, or live without magic. It means nothing to us."

Gathering up all his courage, Harry did the hardest thing he had ever done. He pushed through the crowd, Hagrid following behind with a worried look on his bushy face. He opened his mouth to speak to the Goddess, but found that the silence was on himself as well.

The deity noticed. Waving her hand, she allowed him to speak.

"Can... can I come with you?" Harry asked quietly, almost whispering. "I... I can clean floors, cook, anything in return!"

"You... you, I would have approached myself," Wadjet said, serpentine face almost tugging at a smile.

The four disappeared in a flash of light.

"Sod," Hagrid said. "'Ow'm I supposed to explain this to Professor Dumbledore?"

* * *

Daily Prophet, Special Edition By Verity Smith

Dear readers, you may have found over the last two days that your wands have failed, all your household charms fallen dormant. There is a simple explanation, and it involves Harry Potter, vanquisher of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Put simply, the provider of our magic, The Nameless Goddess, has died through our own neglect and abuse. For further detail on this, including the recently discovered shocking cause involving Merlin Himself, see Page Three. Fortunately, several other deities have taken us on, as it were.

Coming back to our Harry Potter, he petitioned the Egyptian goddess Wadjet in Diagon Alley, and was accepted. Amazingly, he offered to serve her as a domestic in return for this, despite his high position in society, and the legacy left to him. This can only serve as an example to us. Studied readers may remember, but for other readers, Wadjet was...


	9. A Ripping Good Time

Summary: A school outing.

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this.

Pre-fic comments:

This rose out of a sadistic desire to cause pain and humiliation to Malfoy. Again. I could have gone with the Forbidden Ci-er, Forest, but then there's no witnesses.

The Australian Red comes from "Harry's Pets", by Shadows in the Sun.

If you can't read M rated stuff, then SKIP THIS FIC.

M-rated stuff after this.

The title can be traced back to Draco.

* * *

Hagrid sniffed loudly. "It ain't fair."

"All we can do is try and proclaim the truth, Hagrid," Dumbledore said soothingly.

"It is a shame," Professor McGonagall agreed. "Wasn't the Triwizard Tournament supposed to cheer people up, Albus?"

"Didn't work, then," Snape snipped, pouring himself another shot. Now that the year was over, he was free to self medicate to recover from insolent brats, as he put it. "Then again, the useless snots were drop dead scared of even Hagrid's puppies and kittens."

"Don't you go making fun of my animals," Hagrid growled. "They never hurt nobody."

"I believe Mister Malfoy would disagree with you."

"Now, Severus, you know that he knowingly provoked Buckbeak," Minerva put in.

"How was he to know that the stupid animal was so high strung," Snape shot back, stung at the slur to a student of his house.

"Perhaps when I told 'im?" Hagrid muttered.

"Now, now," Dumbledore said. "You've given me a good idea, all of you."

Snape groaned softly.

"What is it, Albus?" McGonagall asked.

"Why, the animals, of course, we'll organise a school outing to the zoo. Lady Schecter's, perhaps."

The staff remaining at Hogwarts for the holidays weren't particularly enthusiastic, but could see the bones of a good idea in there.

"We can't take the whole student body," Snape protested. "It'll have to be a year at a time."

"Yes, yes," Dumbledore said. "This should be cracking good fun."

* * *

The visit turned out to be very haphazard, from Hermione's point of view. Rather than an organised tour around the expansive place, the students had all been told to bring their copy of the Monster Book Of Monsters and wander around. The teachers were wandering around as well, keeping an eye on them.

To neither Ron nor Harry's surprise, they hadn't seen Snape leave Draco Malfoy's side once. Ron taunted Draco for needing a Professor to save him from the nasty animals, and Snape took twenty points from Gryffindor.

"This is neat," Harry grinned hugely, staring down into the expansive enclosure.

"They're just tigers," Ron pointed out, "and they're not even doing anything very interesting."

"I've never really been to the zoo before," Harry said absently. The brief visit pre-Hogwarts didn't count, to his mind.

"Come on, Ron, let's go see the hippopotamuses," Hermione said, tugging at Ron's hand. Ron rolled his eyes, but went along with them.

* * *

"They're so cute," Pansy gushed.

Draco scowled as the ferrets played in their little enclosure. "I hate ferrets, let's go to the large animals. Come /on/, Pansy."

The girl didn't stop talking, either, even when they reached the horses. "Oh look, Draco, pureblood Arabians!"

A small smile broke out on Draco's face. "I wish Father would let me bring Taliesin to Hogwarts."

Snape gave a silent hymn of praise. He hadn't been looking forward to babysitting a sulky boy all day.

After a small pause, Pansy pointed at the small herd. "I think that that one is the boss mare."

A brief moment later, Draco nodded.

Snape sighed. Internally, otherwise he'd get hurt looks. Horses didn't interest him in the slightest. The things he did for a living...

* * *

"Beautiful," Hagrid said with a dopey grin. "Always wanted a dragon, me."

One of the handlers looked at him nervously. "Well, we're lucky to have our licence at Lady Schecter's. We've got some rare breeds, here."

Hagrid nodded. "Never seen an Australian Black, before. Or a Hebridean Black, either."

"What's the difference?" a snotty voice interrupted.

Hagrid's back stiffened, before he forced himself to calm down. "Mister Malfoy. One's from the top of Scotland, the other one's from the Antipodes."

"There's a bit more of a difference than that," the handler laughed. "Your Hebridean Black, that's fairly normal as dragons go, just far more territorial than usual for even dragons. But the Australian Black... ever heard of the Australian Red?"

"That's the decidedly... over amorous one, isn't it?" Professor Snape asked.

"That's it," the handler agreed. "It'll try and jump the bones of any creature that comes along. It's pretty rare as a result, since it doesn't breed with it's own species enough for the breed to spread."

"So how are these black ones different?" Draco asked, getting impatient.

The man pointed across the field at a decidedly strange looking beast. It had scales, feathers, fur, skin, and even a slimy patch. It's head seemed to turn this way and that, as if not sure what it was thinking.

"There's one."

"It doesn't look like a dragon to me."

"Oh, it is one," the man said. "It's similar to the Australian Red in that it'll try and jump any creature it comes across, the difference is that it /can/ procreate with any creature it comes across. That's why it has so many bits from other completely different species. It's also not the sanest of animals, for the same reason."

Pansy Parkinson looked absolutely horrified. "That... is disgusting."

Draco's face twisted as well. "Er, is it supposed to be charging like that?"

"Oh God," the handler cried. "It's gone berserk! It's not endangered, kill it!"

"As you say," Snape said, pulling his wand. "Sectumsempra! Confringo!"

The keeper stared as the first curse cut a wide gash in the bastard-dragon's hide, through which the Blasting Curse entered it. "You shouldn't have done that."

"You said to kill it," Draco said in defense of his godfather.

"Yes, but now the thing's pheromones and body chemistry is settling over the whole park," the keeper said morosely.

Snape stared. Normally there'd be a corpse with a big hole in it after those two spells, but all that was left of the dragon was a scorchmark on the ground.

"If you're still a virgin, you'd either better have condoms or be good at Occlumency," the Keeper continued.

The two students ran off like a shot to try and get out of range. Snape yelled for them to come back, but they ran out of the dragon exhibit into the other areas.

* * *

Harry rubbed his nose and sneezed, then went back to looking at the tigers, who were now prowling through the small trees. The plaque said that the zoo had two female Indian tigers, and were negotiating with another zoo in France for the loan of a male.

He shook his head, feeling it start to grow fuzzy.

* * *

Ron yawned, leaning on the fence. These pandas were horribly boring, but they were less boring than the hippo's he'd left Hermione staring at. He then sneezed.

* * *

Tracey sneezed. She hoped she wasn't allergic to cheetahs, they certainly were magnificent creatures.

* * *

An hour later...

* * *

Harry slowly started to come back into his right mind and stared at the female that he'd been lying on top of. Extremely distracting sensations came from his groinal area that he somehow managed to manfully ignore for a moment.

The tiger twisted around so she was lying on her back, rather than Harry on top of her do-kitty style, and stared back.

"Er, Harry?" a voice came from higher up.

Harry's head shot up as he abruptly realised he wasn't wearing a stitch and was also in the middle of the tiger's enclosure. "Hagrid? What happened?"

"There's a good story behind that," Hagrid said, appearing highly embarassed. "Come on up here, and bring yer two girlfriends with yer."

Two? Harry looked around, realising that as well as the female that had been beneath him, there was a second lapping at his gentleman's area. Even more unsettling, they weren't even human, appearing to be strange mixes of both a human female and a massive bengal tiger.

As Harry twisted around, he realised that he was a male version of them, being a mix of a human man, and a bengal tiger himself.

"What in the name of God Almighty just happened?"

* * *

By the time Hagrid rounded up the rest of the Hogwarts fifth year students, the small cafeteria seemed something of a zoo itself. As well as the students themselves, there were also several... Harry decided on sentient beings, that were probably magical beasts or mundane animals before... well, whatever had happened.

"What happened, and why weren't you affected?" Hermione demanded. Harry absently noted that she looked like a female naga... well, some of the naga he'd seen in mythology books. "And how do we change back?"

There was something of a hysterical tinge to the last comment. Nobody blamed her in the slightest. Not with her shifting coils that were thicker than a grown man's thigh, and her arms crossed furiously under her breasts.

Hagrid produced a small amulet from under his grubby shirt. "I've got somethin' of an immunity to most pheromones - long term exposure, don'ch'know, plus Professor Flitwick made me a protective amulet for the rest. You need these, working with magical animals like I do and doing the odd bit of work in the Forest."

"You didn't say how to change back," a pretty centauress glared. One of her hoofs stamped on the ground.

"Er, you can't," a draconic looking man said timidly. He had been one of the zookeepers. "Australian Blacks have been studied for decades. Sorry."

"Hang on, who're you?" a pandaman asked. He'd introduced himself as Ron the moment Harry stepped into the cafeteria.

Even in a completely different (and much buffer, and taller) form, he still had a small, furless lightning bolt scar on his forehead. He couldn't win.

"I'm Draco Malfoy!" the female centaur shrieked.

"Hold on," Hermione said, her agile mind making a connection immediately. "These dragon-pheromones changed us to the opposite sex of our mate, but they only started to change the body after the introduction of our mate's genetic material, so..."

"What?" Ron the Panda said, confused by all the big words.

Draco's face was a furious red.

"Draco Malfoy would have had anal sex with a full grown stallion before he got his horse-sized, er, you know what," Harry realised. Looking back, he realised that the centauress had been mincingly moving along, and was currently doing her best not to shift her hind legs much. He winced. "Ye-owch. Draco, you might be an asshole, but you didn't deserve that."

"Speaking of deserving, mate, how'd you get TWO smoking hot girlfriends?" Ron whispered. Not very loudly, though.

Harry was thankful that blushes didn't really show much through his orange, black, and white face-fur much as the two once-all-tiger, now half-tiger-half-human women rubbed themselves over him, trying to work him up enough so the three could have another go around. They were only staying away from his meat and two vege in public after threats of no sex for a week.

"Now, if all the females present could line up, I'll do some basic Vetinary pregnancy checks," the zookeeper said, holding up his wand. The wands for the magicians didn't work as well anymore, not fitting their bodies perfectly anymore, but they still worked somewhat.

"Pregnancy checks?" Draco shrieked. Hermione winced, both at the volume and at the thought of passing a equinely large baby that had the large addition of a human torso through even an equinely large birth canal. She was abruptly thankful that she was half-snake and not half-elephant or something equally bad.

"We'll have to practice to make some kittens if we aren't," one of Harry's new mates whispered in his ear, licking it afterwards.

* * *

Omake: Kneejerk politics

"I'm putting forward a bill to restrict priveliges of the non-humans affected by the Schecter's Zoo affair," one Wizengamot member said.

"Oh no you're not," Lucius Malfoy shouted. "My son-er, daughter is affected!"

Malfoy then blinked at Augusta Longbottom. Neither could believe they were voting the same way on something.


	10. Armoured Serpent

Vernon wasn't terribly happy. Dudders was going to London to have a look around the shops, and he'd taken the day off work, intending that he, Petunia, and Dudley make an outing of it. Unfortunately, Mrs Figg couldn't take Harry, and they were leery of getting another woman to babysit him (if she even would, given the reputation that Petunia had raked up for Harry.)

So they were driving along the short road to London, with Dudley poking Harry with a stick he'd found in the back seat.

"Where shall we go first?" Vernon asked out loud.

"I want to go to the petshop!" Dudley brayed.

"Fifth birthday, five presents, eh?" Vernon grinned at the mirror.

Petunia winced minutely. Dudley never chose cheap presents, and Vernon never denied him anything. This could get expensive.

* * *

Dudley stared at the puppy with a huge grin. "Daddy, I want this one!"

Vernon bent over to look at the dog. It was a rottweiler puppy, purebred, and was very lively, jumping and barking excitedly at the strange new twolegs looking at it. "Then this one you get! Shopkeeper, hold onto this one till we get back? We still have to look at some other places, don't want to lock the poor thing in the car!"

Harry didn't voice the fact that the only reason /he/ wasn't locked into the car was because the Dursleys didn't trust him to not vandalise it.

"Uncle Vernon, its /my/ birthday coming up, could I have this snake?" Harry asked timidly.

"What's this, boy?" Vernon said, Petunia trailing behind as Harry led them over to the snake tanks.

Taking a look, at least, the snake that Harry had picked out wasn't very promising. It barely moved at all, its head sluggishly turning to regard Harry. It didn't even have scales!

The shop attendant (who had picked out Vernon as a big spender who adored his boys and would spend anything on anything they wanted, and therefore merited trailing behind) spoke up. "I'm not sure you want this one, sir."

"Why's that," Petunia asked, speaking up for the first time.

"We're not sure what it is," the man admitted. "We think it's some kind of mutant freak of a snake. It doesn't have any scales and, as you can see, it doesn't even have any fangs whatsoever. We've had to feed the poor thing pre-killed animals all it's life. In the wild, or even suburbia, without protective scales it would die very quickly. There's really only a very, very thin layer of flesh between the open air and it's internals."

"You're hurting him!" Harry protested, as the shopkeeper had picked the snake up and squeezed it's head to force it's mouth open to show how it lacked fangs.

The man put it down carefully in the tank to avoid upsetting the potential customer. "It came in a shipment of infantile snakelings from one of the main suppliers in Europe, and they didn't know where it came from either, I'm afraid."

Vernon thought for a moment. While inclined more to thoughtless cruelty towards the boy, he decided to get it in order to school the boy as to what happened to freaks, in the hope that the boy would learn that he (as a fellow freak) needed to be careful in case the decent folk around him took offense.

"We'll get it," Vernon decided. "Boy, it'll be your job to look after it, and if it dies, it's your fault."

Harry nodded eagerly, smiling at the creature.

"We'll be back to pick it up at the same time as the puppy.

* * *

Once the animals were home, Harry immediately spirited the snake's small tank into a small crevice of his cupboard. The man at the shop had thrown in a small, battery operated warming pad for free as well as some free dead mice to Harry, since he had felt bad about selling a small five year old a pet that would undoubtedly die if it got out of it's cage.

After a few days, the snake had gotten more lively, moving around it's small world. Harry sat in his cupboard voluntarily, watching it move around. He'd gotten a stern admonition from the man at the shop not to try and pick it up, or he could hurt it without meaning to.

"Thank you," he heard a quiet voice say, with an odd sibilant hiss to its words.

He looked around. "Who said that!"

"I did," the voice said again. "Here, in the tank."

"Wow," Harry breathed. "I've got a /magic/ snake! You can talk!"

"I /am/ a magic snake," the little strange thing said proudly, with not a note of humility, "but you are also a magic little boy."

This confused Harry no end. "I don't get it, I'm just Harry, how can you tell?"

"My species needs magic to live, and not just survive," the little snake lectured Harry. "We need magic to grow, and to develop our scales."

"You mean that you should have scales? What happened?" Harry asked, fascinated.

The little snake paused thoughtfully. "Get me a piece of metal and I'll show you."

"Wait here," Harry ordered, not remembering that the snake couldn't very well leave.

He raced out of the cupboard (thankfully Dudley was off showing off his 'ferocious attack dog' to his mates, and Aunt Petunia was entertaining guests in the garden out back.) He took some of Aunt Petunia's tiny little butter knives that she used for entertaining /really/ important guests, and went back to his cupboard.

Shutting the door, he held one out to his new pet (and, he was beginning to hope, his first friend.) "Is this okay?"

The snake regarded it thoughtfully. "Any bigger and I'd be in trouble, I think. Put it in my tank."

Harry did so, and watched in wonder as the serpent slowly ate the small butterknife whole. He'd already seen it eat a dead mouse whole, which was normal for snakes, but seeing it eat the knife reminded him of a circus he'd seen on the telly once.

"Watch carefully," the snake hissed. "Right about... now!"

Before Harry's wondering eyes, the bulge of the knife in his pet's stomach disappeared. A faint silvery shimmer began to grow on the snake's body.

"That is so cool!" Harry breathed. "You... can turn metal you eat into your scales!"

"And fangs," the snake added, opening it's mouth wide so Harry could see the little nubs of tiny steel fangs that had begun to extrude from the gums.

"How much more do you need?" Harry asked eagerly, more than prepared to loot the house of any and all metal that his friend needed. He paused to think a moment. "I've been trying to think of a good name for you, but do you already have one?"

"Not really," the snake admitted. "Can I have another of those knives, please?"

Harry put the second one down as fast as he could. "What about... Jormungand?"

* * *

Six years later, Harry picked up the mail, thinking idly about his eleventh birthday that was coming up. Not that he expected anything, but you never knew. He handed the small bundle to Uncle Vernon, picking up an egg from the kitchen on his way past to the living room.

He crouched to what looked like a big metal sculpture, that uncoiled itself to reveal a living snake seemingly made of metal. Harry had never bothered checking, but he was certain by now that Jormungand was longer now than he was tall. He put the egg on the ground for Jormungand, who was very appreciative. The snake needed bigger prey than that, now, but he liked the taste of them.

The snake coiled itself around Harry, resting his large head on Harry's shoulder so he could see what was in front of Harry (who, Dudley had learned to his regret, was now stronger than he looked. Much stronger. Carrying around a big snake sheathed in metal had it's own rewards.)

"They tried again yesssterday," Jormungand said to Harry.

"Good grief, a poisoned cat /again/?" Harry asked, exasperated. The Dursleys had discovered that sharp objects couldn't penetrate the snake's metal scales, and it either bit through plastic bags meant to suffocate it or forced it's way out.

"A dog, this time," Jormungand said. Poison, it could taste in the air. Not that there were many things that were poisonous to it - Harry was sure that Jormungand's own poison had by now rendered it immune to lesser ones.

"Do you want something to eat?" Harry asked.

"No," Jormungand said.

"Hold on," Harry said, "Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia are argueing."

He sneaked over to the ajar door, with only the slight clink of Jormungand's scales every now and again, and listened at the crack.

"If we send him away, then we never have to deal with that... monster!" Petunia said.

"Yes, but..."

"I know we swore to stamp that unnaturalness out of him, that magic, but I'll settle for having him out of our lives!" Petunia said urgently.

"I suppose," Vernon said. He wrote a quick note down, and called out to Harry. "Boy!"

Harry ducked away from the door to the hallway, and called out, "Yes, Uncle Vernon?"

"Come here, boy!"

Harry walked into the kitchen, where his aunt was holding a letter on... parchment?"

A faint slurring click of metal sliding indicated that Jormungand had raised his head to peer curiously as well as Harry.

"Hogwarts School of... Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

* * *

"'Ello," the giant who knocked on the door said. "Mind if I come in?"

"By all means," Vernon said dazedly. "You're here for the boy? HARRY!"

Harry came out to see what his uncle said, and the visitor's mouth dropped open.

"Oooooo, is that an armoured serpent, 'Arry?" the man asked, admiration plain in his eyes. "What a beautiful creature!"

"Yes," Harry said cautiously. "His name is Jormungand. I'm Harry Potter. And you are..."

"Sorry," the man said. "Name's Hagrid, Rubeous Hagrid. Sorry about bein' so rude, but that's just such a beautiful critter there..."

Harry smiled as he stroked the scales on top of his snake's head. "Yeah, isn't he? Do you know what he is, then?"

"Sure do," Hagrid said. "That there is what is known as an Armoured Serpent, 'Arry, a very beautiful serpent with vicious venom that's even more lethal than sea snake venom."

Harry's eyes went wide as he looked at his pet and friend. "Wow, we didn't know that. How big do they get?"

"No one knows," Hagrid said. "Mind if I stroke him? Lovely, lovely thing. There just ain't that many, and as far as we can tell there ain't no limit. They just decides at some point that they want to stop growing larger and longer, then they decides they wants to start growing again... magic is a great thing, 'Arry."

"Speaking of magic," Harry said.

* * *

Naturally, Harry took Jormungand with him to Diagon Alley, where he found himself the center of attention.

"I say, is that..."

"That's Harry Potter!"

"And with a /snake/, too!"

"Why would the Boy Who Lived have a dangerous snake with him?"

"HEY!" Harry yelled, taking offence at the insults to his friend.

The crowd went silent.

"Snakes are good!" Harry insisted. "The serpent god Ophion ruled the world with Eurynome! Asclepius learnt the secrets of medicine from watching a snake! Alexander the Great was fathered by Zeus - who was in serpent form at the time! Jesus told his disciples to be as wise as serpents!" (A/N: Matthew 10:16)

A brief pause of utter confusion ensued, broken by a very scholarly old man who said, "The boy's right, you know."

Harry, Jormungand, and Hagrid left a scene of confusion behind them as they went through the back wall of the Leaky Cauldron into the Alley proper.

* * *

A/N: Not sure where to go with this. I just got the idea for a snake that needed magic to live, and it went from there.

My armoured serpent can live without magic, but it needs it to grow to any size and more importantly, to be able to digest metal which it needs for it's scales, and for it's fangs. No magic, the metal just sits in the snake's stomach with possibly lethal consequences. Wild armoured serpents scavenge for magic wherever they can find it, Jormungand happened to be lucky enough to get a wizard that he could get magic from. As a result, when Jormungand is not leeching magic off Harry (ie is not growing more scales, fangs, or is not growing any larger by choice), Harry has more magic than in canon due to his reserves growing large enough to sustain the snake's drain comfortably. I'm sure someone can put this better than I can.

As for the Leaky Cauldron rant, I reckon there'd be a mini-revolution made out of that, but not sure how it'd go.


	11. Deth Harry

I don't know if I'll ever polish this up and finish it. So I'm putting up what I've done. This... is a Dethklok crossover.

* * *

Petunia scowled down at the four year old. "In a couple years, we'll have to send him to... primary school."

And their secret would be out. Their secret shame of having to raise a nephew from her sister. Not only that, their

magical nephew. So far, it had remained secret by not sending Harry to kindergarten (and instructing Dudley to not

mention him), but once he reached primary school age, one of the few who knew about him would start asking

uncomfortable questions about where young Harry was being schooled.

"Freak," Vernon contributed.

"Say, Vernon, you have that cousin in America, don't you? 'Snizzy Snazz', he called himself," Petunia thought out

loud. Seeing Vernon's face purple, she hurried to continue. "I know you don't like talking about him, but what if we

sent the boy to him?"

"Best idea I've heard yet," Vernon praised.

* * *

The Dursleys had held off calling Vernon's cousin ("Mr Bullets" was all that Vernon would call him, since that was

part of his proper name as he saw it) when Harry was on the transatlantic plane to Los Angeles. Harry was in economy

class and obviously frightened, but not allowing himself to show it. The small boy pulled at the maternal instincts

of the flight attendants, who showered him with sweets and books to read.

"Where are you going?" a short blonde attendant asked him.

"I-I'm going to stay with my uncle Mister Snizzy Snazz," Harry said, feeling shy away from the Dursleys, his only

point of reference.

She gasped. "Snizzy Snazz Bullets? My sister's seen his band 'Snakes and Barrels'! You're such a lucky kid!"

"He has a band?" Harry asked, curiousity rising.

"Sure," the girl said. "You can have this magazine I've got - there's this awesome article on it."

* * *

Harry arrived expecting perhaps his uncle to grudgingly turn up with a sneer and an insult, much like his Uncle

Vernon would have, but instead a burly looking man with a sign saying "HARRY POTTER" drove him there, introducing

himself as Pete, one of the band's 'roadies'.

He soon found that the band was, in a way, an even worse place to be than under the Dursley's care but, in other

ways, even better. He wound up not going to primary school in America, either, but not through an intentional lack,

more through neglect on his caregivers' part. His reading comprehension and english was learnt through gear manuals

and industry magazines, his mathematics through tour schedules, accounting, and working out the power output of the

band's amplifiers. Physics was learnt through helping the roadies set up and transport, and chemistry was learnt

through his uncle's vice. Heroin and hallucinogens. He never took any for himself - partly through a sternly

instilled honesty on the Dursley's part, partly through fear he'd lose even this caretaker if he was caught.

When the band broke up, Harry was full of fear. He knew that Snizzy Snazz had even less hope of keeping legal

guardianship of Harry solo than he would in the band. Fortunately, the frontman for Snakes and Barrels, Pickles,

took Harry under his wing as he joined another band.

* * *

A small family was having a tearful farewell between Platforms Nine and Ten in London.

Hermione had tears in her eyes. "I... I'm going to miss you, this'll be the longest I've ever been away from you,

Mum."

"There there, love," Mrs Granger said. She handed her daughter a compact disc. "We bought you a present as a going

away gift."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh my... this is the limited edition Dethklok album that has the Producer playing on it!

How much did you pay?"

Her dad coughed. "It wasn't so much how much we paid as it was that the Mayor didn't get an anaethetic free tooth

removal."

"That is so brutal! I love you BOTH!"

* * *

Draco stepped up on the steps, gaining a couple steps height (and therefore a slight psychological advantage.) "So,

Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts."

"Yeah, and?" Harry asked, his green eyes glowing vividly for a moment. "This place sucks. No music and I'm banned

from booze till I get outta here. This magic better be good, or else."

Fire emerged in Draco's eyes at this - however, his fire was purely mental and had no basis in reality, magic or

otherwise. "If you don't apologise now, and promise to obey me, I'll write to my father and make your life a pure

living hell!"

A bushy haired Muggleborn girl elbowed her way to the front, fanatical zeal shining in her eyes. Harry recognised in

it the beginnings of a familiar zeal that was mirrored in the eyes of the roadies for Dethklok, the Klokateers.

"Don't you know who this is?"

"It's Harry Potter, the Brat-Who-Lived," Draco sniffed insolently. "I don't care if he chokes on a bone and dies.

One less halfblood in the world."

"He's the Producer for Dethklok!" Hermione screamed. "He's produced every single album that they've laid down! He's

the adopted son of Pickles the Drummer! Nathan Explosion has beaten the living out of people in PUBLIC for

him! GET HIM!"

* * *

Dumbledore blinked, checking his wristwatch. The students in front of him were getting impatient.

"Tipsy!"

He bent over to the small house elf. "Instruct the Kitchen Elves to lay out the peppermint humbugs - and only those

- while I find out what the problem is."

Ambling over to the side door of the hall, he wondered what was taking the Transfiguration Professor. Opening it, he

found out.

Minerva was Stupefying, Transfiguring, and Petrifying first years for all she was worth. Nearly all the pureblood

students were cowering against the wall, with the exceptions of Mister Draco Malfoy, Greggory Goyle, and Mister

Crabbe who were getting a bloody thorough thrashing by nearly all the remaining students, with the exception of

Mister Potter, who stood aloofly to the side, arms crossed with a pissed look on his face.

"Order! Order!" he said. This failed to produce any results at all, so he cast a mass Petrify.

"Thank you, Albus," Minerva said.

"What, exactly, is the reason behind this?" Albus asked, one eyebrow raised.

A bushy haired brunette - Hermione Granger, if his memory still worked - spoke out. "She insulted the Producer!"

"The producer?" Dumbledore asked, confusion plain in his voice.

"No, the Producer," Hermione corrected him, capital plain in her voice. "He insulted the Producer for all of

Dethklok's albums!"

"Oh," Albus said, completely unsure of what to do.

"I claim complete responsibility," Harry spoke up, "since I am the Producer."

"/Mister/ Potter," McGonagall spoke up, rising fury in /her/ voice, "you can most likely expect to be called in

front of the Wizengamot by Lucius Malfoy for inciting a brutal attack like this!"

"I don't care," Harry interrupted. "You'll never find a jury in the land who'd convict me of so much as speeding.

And even if you found a judge who did, I'd only be in there until the news networks ran a story on it."

Dumbledore could feel undercurrents here that he had no idea as to the depth of. "Why don't we retire to my office

and discuss after the Sorting?"

* * *

"There we have it, folks! The Producer, replaced by Dick 'Magic Ears' Knubbler when the Producer himself was forced

to attend school, has been threatened with death by the self proclaimed Dark Lord Voldemort, who also claims to be a

wizard! Maybe he thinks that Dethklok needs some competition for their reigning order of Darkness, eh folks?"

Mister Granger stared at the television. "Doesn't our daughter go to school with him?"

"Yes, dear."

"This is public, Muth, um, Mul, er, Muggle TV, right?"

"Yes, dear."

"This Dark Lord is so screwed."

* * *

Hermione felt for a moment like she should have been berating someone.

"Oooh, Harry, Stolichnaya! Could I have some?"

Harry shrugged, splashing vodka on the tome as he passed the bottle. Hermione hugged it with a devotion that scared

him at times - not one of love of the bottle, but of a complete zeal towards him.

"Why didn't that useless old prick tell me he had a stash of black magic books?" Harry asked. "I should send this

to Nathan for lyrics."

"What if another demon gets summoned?" Hermione asked, zeal temporarily muted by a pleasant alcoholic fuzz. Her LIPS

were touching the same bottle that the PRODUCER had drank from!

"You heard about that?" Harry asked, sidetracked for a moment.


	12. Got Time

Usual deal. Not continuing, someone else can if they want and send me a copy.

With all these time travel fics, I'm surprised the obvious crossover didn't crop up. I decided not to go with the fanon Setsuna ("A threat to Crystal Tokyo! DIE!") because she is pretty easy on the eyes and hell, Harry deserves it.

* * *

Ron panted. "We're surrounded, guys."

Neville shivered. "Uh... wards just went up."

"You could make me a happy man if you told me that they were not those new anti-portkey, anti-elf, anti-anything wards," Harry said optimistically.

"Get used to disappointment," Neville grumbled.

"What about our wards?" McGonagal asked. The rest of the Order would have to fight their way through a determined Death Eater offensive to help them at all.

"We're holding up, good for another hour or two," Pavarti said, from where she and her sister were sitting on either side of a Warding Stone that glowed red hot with the pressures being brought to bear on it.

"If we had a time turner or something we could go back and warn ourselves or something," Hermione grumbled. "And yes, I know that would cause a paradox, and at the moment I simply /don't care./"

"Well," McGonagal said slowly, "I do know of a spell - well, more of a ritual - but it's still theoretical at this stage..."

"Let's do it," Harry said. "Some chance is better than no chance."

"This Ritual is to send someone back in time ten years," McGonagal warned. "We don't know if paradox will kill you, if universal constants of some kind will erase you, or if it works at all."

"Well, a man's got to go at some stage," Ron said. "And it's going to be at wandpoint from Avada Kedavra at this rate for the lot of us."

* * *

Harry had volunteered to be the guinea pig (on the basis that he'd do anything he'd ask of someone else), and things had not progressed as he had thought they would.

He'd expected some kind of flashing tunnel, perhaps, maybe even some vivid psychedelic acid trip reminiscent of Stanley Kubrick, but instead he was surrounded by grey mist, with a woman staring at him while she stood in front of a huge pair of gates with a really weird looking staff.

"Lady, who are you?" he asked. "I was kinda expecting to be back in time ten years or so."

"I am the Guardian of Time, Setsuna Meiou," she said. "As such, I cannot allow you to go back. It would threaten too much."

"You don't understand," Harry said desperately, "Lord-"

"Voldemort, yes, I know," the woman said. "But I still cannot permit it."

"Look, maybe it means nothing to you, but even as I speak my mates could be dying!" Harry roared, green eyes flashing with emotion at the greenhaired woman.

Despite his desperation, Harry admitted to himself that she was a decent looking bird. He might've been a twenty year old virgin, but he still had urges.

Her eyes softened. "Time is not passing while we speak."

Harry relaxed. Slightly. "Well, can you help me at all, then? I really need help!"

She sat back on a thronelike chair that hadn't been there a moment ago. "I have studied the Art of Magic since the Queen last reigned. I will teach you... some... of what I know."

* * *

The death eaters had settled down for a wait while the Light Idiots sat there like, well, idiots. The more easily bored were playing Vanishing Poker (similar to Exploding Snap, but rather as poker with cards that automatically vanished clothing on their own.)

A tall man in flowing robes of black and green appeared in the dead-mans-land between the Light Wards and the Death Eaters. His face was obscured by a black hood, and he held a long black staff in his left hand..

"Who are you?" Malfoy demanded, elbowing his way past the two death eaters who knew a little bit of Ward Breaking.

"I am Charon," the man said. "I am the Ferryman."

"And I'm the Easter Bunny," Crabbe muttered next to Malfoy.

"No, you're dead, and I'm here to ferry you to the underlife," 'Charon' intoned.

"Is that..." Hermione gasped.

"Can't be, he looks older than what Harry is," Ron said, not following.

"That's who he is, regardless," an unfamiliar voice said next to them.

"Who're you?" Ron demanded of a woman dressed in an indecently short green skirt, white shirt, and green neckerchief holding a long staff.

"I am Pluto," the woman smiled, "partner to Charon."


	13. Harry Potter and the Philosopher Gnomes

No, they aren't based in Switzerland. If anyone wants to take this idea and run with it, go for it, just send me a link.

* * *

Harry came downstairs to his uncle hammering boards across the mailslot in the front door - with a piece of fruit cake. Uncle Vernon seemed really intent on Harry not getting any of these letters addressed to him.

The pattern of the last few days of increasing amounts of mail was disrupted by a knock on the door, rather than more mail. Vernon opened it cautiously to a tiny man dressed in a silk suit. The man was even shorter than Harry was, and had a ledger tucked under his arm.

"Is Mister Potter here?" the short man asked.

"Yes, who's asking," Vernon grumped, mildly because the man's appearance oozed money.

"Sprazzle Copperpot of the National Gnomish Bank, regarding Mister Potter's accounts," Mr Copperpot said.

A crafty look bloomed on Vernon's face. He hated magic, true, but he loved money more. "Er, I'm Harry's uncle, you see, and as his guardian I must insist that you give the bankbooks to me right away."

Mr Copperpot opened up his ledger, a small finger running down the page. "No, I'm afraid that's quite impossible. As you are not related to the Potter family by direct blood, you have no rights of access and we really must insist that Mr Potter comes with us to discuss matters."

Well, putting the squeeze on for control hadn't worked, so Vernon tried the next best thing. "That's as may be, but we've been putting the boy up for years, and really must insist that he repay us for ten years of backpayments on, on board, bills and so on."

Sprazzle Copperpot snorted. "Mr Dursley, kindly stop lying. Mr James Potter left letters with us detailing that Mrs Lily Potter nee Evans set up an automatic payment from her account with Gringotts Bank for the guardians of Mr Harry Potter in the events of their passing away."

"But, but," Vernon sputtered.

For his part, it was dawning on Harry that he had not been a financial burden on the Dursleys but had, in fact, been a source of money for them.

"If you take the brat away, don't expect him to come back," Aunt Petunia said coldly. "And do something about those blasted letters, too."

Harry knew that his uncle and aunt didn't like him, but it still hurt to hear them say such things.

"Very well," Copperpot said, eyes narrowed. He extended his hand to Harry. "Come, Harry."

* * *

"I don't understand what's going on," Harry said from where he was sitting in the back seat of the old car that Mr Copperpot had arrived in. The driver was also a gnome, and the controls of the car had been specially redesigned for him.

"Simply put, Harry, you're a wizard," Copperpot said. "More directly, your father and your family as a whole has held their accounts with the National Gnomish Bank for centuries. We don't usually directly intervene like this, but we felt that this was an unusual case."

"I don't get it," Harry said. "What would you normally do? Who did my Mum go to for the bank?"

"Normally, we'd notify either Wizarding Social Services, or Child Protection Services, depending on their magical status," the gnome replied. "Your mother kept her accounts with Gringotts."

"Gringotts?"

"A rival bank, run by goblins, rather than gnomes," Copperpot said.

"Oh," Harry said. He shivered, thinking of all the goblins from The Hobbit that had tried to murder Bilbo and the dwarves. "I think I'd rather deal with gnomes too, if other gnomes are like you. What are all the letters that kept coming to me about?"

"You didn't get any?" Copperpot asked.

"No," Harry explained. "Uncle Vernon kept burning them. I didn't even know that I'm a wizard."

"They're acceptance letters," Copperpot explained, "from the Scottish school Hogwarts."

"Aunt Petunia wanted me to go to Stonewall, near their house," Harry said. He wrinkled his nose. "Dudley reckons they stick new boys heads down the toilet."

"Oh, no, this one is to teach young wizards and witches," Copperpot laughed. "Human ones only, that is."

"There are other ones?" Harry asked, fascinated.

"Oh, of course. There is Beauxbatons Academy in France, Durmstang in Bulgaria, the Emperor's Collegium in China, the Kirin'Tor in Dalaran, Franklin's in America... lots, really."

"What's the best one," Harry asked. The notion of having money to pay for it, or academic tests of entry, didn't occur to him at all.

"Well," Sprazzle said slowly, "I'm not a mage myself, mind, but my children are, and my wife and I decided to send our children to be taught by the Kirin'Tor, since that's where the Highborn Elves are, mainly, and they're the ones who discovered magic in the first place."

"They are?" Harry asked. This was fascinating. He'd woken up this morning, expecting only to do chores and, perhaps, have to mow the lawn, but now he was sitting in a /Rolls Royce/ with a /gnome/ learning about /elves/... and /magic!/

"Yes, in fact humans were-ah, we've arrived," Copperpot said. "Welcome, Harry, to the main branch of the Gnomish National Bank."


	14. No Satisfaction

James shuddered. "Lilylove, are you sure..."

The redhead nodded, a fierce look on her face. "I refuse to give that bastard the satisfaction."

"Only, it's not something you can walk away from," James continued ernestly.

Lily looked up at her strong husband, encircled in his arms. "James, what will happen if we pass away? What if Harry is killed? Our only son, James!"

The strong Gryffindor sighed heavily, fear enscribed on his features. "I still don't like it... but for you, Lilylove, I'd deck God."

* * *

"Lily, take Harry and go!" James roared, picking up the knife that he'd prepared a week ago, hoping never to have to need it.

As Voldemort burst into the room, he saw James Potter draw a knife across his throat, before collapsing into a circle of runes that had been drawn out beforehand.

"I never took you for a coward, Potter, but obviously you recognised the futility of going against Lord Voldemort," the insane Dark Lord ranted to the air and the cooling corpse.

To Voldemort's disappointment, he entered the small nursery to see Lily Potter doing the same as her husband. He'd never taken either of them for cowards - he'd have thought that such an emotional female as Potter-nee-Evans would have fought him to the last to defend her babe.

"It comes down to this," Voldemort said to the baby, who had started to cry at Mummy falling like that. She'd get up and laugh, wouldn't she? Wouldn't she? "You, me, and the crackbrained prophecy of a scatterbrained charlatan, believed by a senile old has-been."

"You'd like to think that," a familiar voice intoned from behind Riddle.

He turned to see James... Potter? "Impossible! I saw you kill yourself!"

"There are deeper magics than those your tame lapdogs brought to you," James spat at Voldemort.

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort was awestruck to see that the Death Curse had no effect on Potter's body. "Stupefy stupefy stupefy!"

Potter simply grinned at the Dark Lord.

Voldemort spun with a roar of anger, wand pointed at the man's only child. "Even this slight victory will be to you as ashes in your mouth! AVADA KEDAVRA!"

James and the rising Lily Potter stared, goggle-eyed, as the Killing Curse rebounded off their son, back onto it's caster.

* * *

Okay, so Death-touched Harry being raised by his dead Lich parents. Who were responsible for the death of the Dark Lord. God only knows whether the wizardding world will praise or fear them. Possibly fear enough to leave them well the hell alone.

Oh, and god bless chardonnay and bourbon.


	15. Power and Control

I've been thinking about a Cray supercomputer controlling magical wards since 'Haunter'. This is a massive expansion of that idea.

* * *

"Hello, Hermione. I'm glad you could come."

"What are you here for? I thought you'd like to see what we've developed here."

"By 'we' I mean Black Technologies, of course."

"I should start at the beginning. The initial breakthrough was discovering the link between magic and electri-"

"Hey! Did I interrupt you? No. Return the favour?"

"That's okay. The second was finding how the stone circles of the Celts, the giant Obelisks of Egypt, all that manner of thing, act as, in effect, massive wards that control magic."

"Yes, they do. It's not my fault if you didn't know."

"But those previous - and Ministry funded, I might add - researchers all lacked the power to energise the configurations. They had maybe five researchers if they were lucky, not the hundreds if not thousands that the Ancients used. Nuclear power is what mine run off, after going through some seriously heavy duty converters. Brunel would approve, probably."

"What are they for? To control the world. Who wants political power? With how dependant wizards are on their magic, if you can control their magic, you can control them, with no need for this silly wrangling over cauldron bottoms and the like. If they can cast pot cleaning spells, but not death curses, and at your whim no less, then you're ahead of the game already."

"Well, yes, of course the circles and obelisks are on-off systems. A given configuration is designed to nullify a given amount of magical power in a given area. That's why we have multiple configurations of differing strength at each site. We switch them on and off to get a precise amount of power-nullifying. It's simple binary, you know. Oops, sorry, I forgot, Hogwarts A History and Professor Vector both fail to cover modern mathematics or information theory."

"Don't be silly. There are now tens of thousands of sites like this around the world now. I'm not fooling around with controlling each of the damn things. Come inside, and I'll show you what does."

"Breathe, Hermione. Ugh... looking like that when you're not focussed on a good looking man, or woman, I'm not picky. Yes, that is a Cray T3D supercomputer. We have one of the fastest links to the global backbone on the planet. On the floor below this we have on contract ten Japanese Snow Women to cool it, with a backup of the standard refrigeration apparatus, with a backup-backup of five hundred pipes portalled to the icepacks in the Northern Pole."

"Please, this is all legally paid for. There is an advantage to paying in solid gold. The Cray needed several well placed extra payments, shall we say, for permissions."

"Yes, this controls all the worldwide Black Tech sites. That should have been obvious."

"I'd imagine that the Ministry would launch an assault on this site, once we go live. It won't do them any good."

"Use your head. They would first go in, wands blazing, and fail miserably when they trip the failsafes. What are those? When unauthorised personnel or devices enter the perimeter, every single Configuration goes live. Not so much as a single spark gets cast. Any, say, dragon in the area collapses to the ground, lacking the innate magic they normally utilize to stay airborne, for example. And the Wardings stay up until the intruders have been placed in the Detention Block."

"After a year of failing, they probably would call in the Muggle Ministries. Not that the normal world would give a damn, and even if they did, that wall you noticed would stop them dead. It cannot be destroyed."

"Not, it can't."

"You really aren't paying attention to this. You've heard of the science fiction 'Neutronium' substance? We are able to magically lay down a similar material. The beauty is that, once made, it doesn't need magic to continue to exist. We need even more magical power than the staggering amount needed to make it in the first place, true, but that is where the nuclear reactors come back into it."

"Yes, the Army has ground to ground missiles. Yes, they have bunker-busters - which, I might add, are designed for use against traditionally constructed bunkers, not the hardened neutronium ones that Black Tech construct. Are you finally starting to understand?"

"Good. It's not as if the Army would launch any missiles, anyway - not if they want work on the new deep-level nuclear winter shelters to continue."

"Well... the NDA you signed at the entrance will make sure you don't talk. God bless magical contracts, I say. We've got contracts with the Queen, with the House of Lords, the House of Commons, the RAF, the British Army. I think the Yanks are in negotiations right now."

"Once we've built their shelters, they won't need us to build more, yes. That's where the rest of it comes in."

"God, Hermione, you weren't this dense at school! THINK! We've developed this technology, it's mature. We have time to work on all those other sticky problems that people want to go away - like, say, that nasty little pollution issue, the ongoing droughts that sprout all the time in Africa, not to mention the fact that we all live in a massive gravity well. We'll see space travel and colonization of the moon in my lifetime."

"Of course no one has done this before. No muggleborn had the liquid money, no pureblood would dream of mixing Muggle technology with magic, or even know what the word nuclear meant."

"Oh, grow up! Dark Lord anything sounds retarded. As it is, there may be an ennobling in the offing."


	16. Uncommonly Good

Summary: Vernon Dursley, common working stiff.

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this.

Pre-fic comments:

I might work at a New Zealand freezing works, but I don't know whether British ones run along the same lines.

* * *

"Time for bed," Vernon said from where he reigned supreme over the remote.

"Awwww," the two boys called out from the sofa, where one was watching the telly and the other was noodling on a cheap plywood Stratocaster that had cost Vernon less than twenty quid secondhand.

"If you don't, then Father Christmas won't come if you're still up," Petunia said.

"Awww, muuuum," Dudley whined.

"You've had a lovely Christmas Eve, now don't spoil it. Bed. Now."

"Okay," Harry said, carefully standing the guitar in the corner. "Goodnight Uncle, Aunt."

* * *

"Uncle Vernon, wake up, wake up, it's Christmas!" Harry yelled.

"If you don't be quiet, then Christmas is cancelled," Vernon said grumpily.

Aunt Petunia winked at the two boys. "Go on down, I'll get him up."

Five minutes later the small family was sitting in the living room downstairs, sitting decidedly unpatiently. Aunt Petunia was handing out the presents from her and Uncle Vernon.

"First Dudley," she said, handing the boy a suspiciously flat, long, and wide parcel. His eyes widened. "And now Harry. Open them, boys."

Both ripped the paper off the boxes in no time flat, ripping the top off the brown cardboard boxes in a similarly fast fashion. Their mouths dropped open.

"Wooooow," they echoed together.

Dudley picked the guitar up. "Look, Harry, a Zakk Wylde Les Paul guitar!"

"With heavy strings too, just the way you like it," Vernon said proudly. "Got David to set them up and everything."

"A Tony Iommi SG!" Harry yelled. "Left handed too!"

"There isn't much else," Aunt Petunia warned. "They cost a lot."

"That's alright, Mum," Dudley said, giving her a big hug.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "These are COOL!"

* * *

Harry frowned at the heavy parchment. "I thought that I'd be going to Stonewall with Dudley!"

Vernon shrugged. "I thought so too. Pet?"

Petunia struggled for a moment internally. "Well... I didn't agree with it, but your mother... well... she was a witch, Harry, and you inherited magic from your birth parents."

* * *

Goblet of Fire, just before the Yule Ball:

"Professor, what band are we going to have at the ball?"

"Weird Sisters, I believe."

Harry pulled a face. "Could my band put on a set later in the night? Some more... muggle... music?"

The Deputy Headmistress paused to think about it. Albus had expressed to her how he wished that more wizards would appreciate just how talented muggles were...

"Very well."

"My muggle cousin Dudley'll have to come, though, I need him to play rhythm for us."

"Couldn't you do that, Mr Potter?"

Harry shook his head. "I can't do rhythm, just like he can't do lead like I do."

"I'll get the Headmaster to write out a note for him to attend as well, then."

* * *

On the night:

Dudley looked around. "Harry, I hope that enough people stick around to see us play."

"I know, Dudley," Harry sighed. "Pavarti, sorry about this."

The beautiful girl smiled demurely. She'd heard Harry play before, and any boredom now was thoroughly outweighed by being the girlfriend of the lead guitarist in the band. Forget the Boy-Who-Lived crap, she'd discovered Rock And Roll.

"There's the signal," Dudley said, pointing at where McGonagall was gesturing them over.

"Okay, lads, everyone ready?" Harry asked.

Ron, Nev, and Hermione nodded.

"Let's do this," Dudley said, picking up his now somewhat battered Les Paul.

"I'm still nervous," Hermione confessed, picking up the Thunderbird bass that she'd saved up for with tutoring money.

"You're nervous?" Neville asked incredulously, drumsticks whirling in his hands nervously.

"Let's do this," Ron echoed, grabbing a massive black leather cowboy hat. Harry had shown him a music video, and Ron had latched onto the idea that a singer needed a really cool looking hat.

"Have a Drink on me?" Harry asked, as they plugged in on stage.

"Mr Potter, there will be no drinking on school property," McGonagall said.

Harry didn't say a word and let his guitar do the talking as he kicked off the introduction riff for the ACDC song, with Nev quickly picking up the beat.

"Whisky, Gin and Brandy, with a glass I'm pretty handy," Ron belted out, getting those bollocks-crunching high notes with an ease gained from a lot of practice with Harry.

"Have a drink on me!" Harry and Dudley sang in the background.

All five students (one nonmagical) grinned hugely as all the students sitting around got up and charged onto the dance floor. The wizarding band they'd replaced looked distinctly put out at being so thoroughly upstaged.

* * *

A/N Considering that AC/DC are a Commonwealth band, plus the band in the movie was so damn boring. There's a little bit of bogan in all of us, hehe. I think we've all seen those gigs where the people sit around bored until that magic song starts playing, whereupon everyone gets up and gets on down. Plus consider Albus soiling himself when the lads launch into Hells Bells, Bring It On Down by Oasis, and the like.

In keeping with the theme for the Dursleys, the guitars are both Epiphone ones. Cheap (compared to Gibson) but still pretty good quality. The boys don't get amplifiers until they're able to buy them themselves.

As for Ron's hat, he got shown a recording of Brian Johnson singing and got religion, but didn't want to be a straight out copycat.


	17. Unexpected And Unholy

A thick miasma of smoke hung heavily in the room, defiant of any anti-smoking laws that should happen to be on any books. You didn't need to be a telepath, or even an empath to pick up on the air of barely contained rage in the room.

"These people," a man rumbled in a dark voice, thick with anger, "These people think they can come into MY TERRITORY, and kill good people?"

He rose from his seat at the heavy table and began to pace. He pulled another cigar from the box and lit it before continuing his six feet circuit in his immaculate threepiece suit.

"I've known these people for all my life, they've contracted to my family for protection. We've loyally looked after them for centuries, they've been untouched by the Mafia, by the Triads, no one has dared touch my people... and these punks think they can just waltz in and KILL THEM?"

Another man, this one in long, black and purple robes with no visible opening seam on the front or side, spoke up. "Sir, we've prepared Warehouse 69 for use."

The man smiled, puffing out another stream of smoke. "Good. I want the Threefold Six pillars arranged in the place."

"But sir," the mage's eyes widened."

"But nothing! We're going to make... a little example to these PEOPLE about why you leave my territory alone."

* * *

Voldemort blew the doors open. These insolent muggles had placed a fullpage advertisement in the Daily Prophet (unknown to him, through a Muggleborn cousin of the cigar-smoking man) daring him to meet with them.

Naturally, he felt the need to school these serfs in their place in the world. Below him, and all wizards of blood. Preferably dead.

The inside of the cavernous building was dark and empty, and the doors slammed shut behind the last Death Eater. A crackling built in the air, and Voldemort noticed six circles around the perimeter, each containing three stellae that rumbled with barely-contained power.

A bell tolled. Tolled. Tolled. Tolled. Tolled. Tolled.

The space lit up, to show not the inside of a Muggle warehouse, but what looked like the inside of a massive stone cathedral, dwarfing even Chartres or Notre Dame de Paris. The lamps were red in colour, and the cross at the altar was inverted. The priest at the front was dressed in white, with a black dogcollar.

"Welcome, gentlemen, to La Infierno Cathedrale. I expect your stay to be a long one, as you have many sins, and many who sent you here, both the prayers of the dead and the hatred of the living."

As the Death Eaters found that they could not apparate out, or Portkey, panic rose in them.

* * *

Voldemort panted, spread eagled on the floor of the Riddle House. What rankled in him was that he had not even escaped, really.

"We shall let you go, I think, in the sure knowledge that every act you carry out, every sin, will bring you closer to us, longer with us, and the surety that you will not be able to stop yourself. You. Will. Die. That is our Prophecy to you."

He felt a strange sensation in his eyes. Distantly, the Dark Lord realised that it was what was left of his tear ducts, long since burnt out in his pursuit of greater ritual power.

But he would not die! He would live forever! Never would he enter that gothic cathedral of the Damned.

And the first step would be to destroy those two mewling whelps that the Seer at Hogwarts had spoke of.


	18. A Different School

Got the idea watching Slayer videos.

* * *

Vernon looked distastefully at the letters Harry had received - the first letters Harry had received, in fact.

"I thought there was this Hogwarts place and that was it," he said, a scowl on his features.

"Well... it's the only one I've ever heard of," Petunia said hesitantly.

"Hmm, well, the Todd-Gein School of Power," Vernon read out loud. "Interesting... this lot seems to focus on getting as much freakishness as possible, while... oh dear God on high."

"What is it?" Petunia asked, taking the letter. "Removing... competition? Vernon, does that mean what I think it does?"

Vernon nodded. "A chance to get rid of the freak for once and for all while it being someone else's fault? You bet! Boy! Boy! You're not going to Stonewall anymore..."

* * *

Dumbledore stood in front of the assembled school, outwardly supremely confident but inwardly... he felt like a housecat announcing an affair with a Dobermann.

"I am pleased to announce that Mr Harry Potter is engaging in a school exchange with the Todd-Gein School in America, and will be with us for the duration of the school year!"

Longbottom fainted at the name of Potter's school.

Harry looked around, visibly unimpressed. He took a seat with the Hufflepuffs, who visibly inched away from him. He might be the Boy-Who-Lived, but what he might've learnt...

"It is my far greater pleasure to announce that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be hosting this year's Triwizard Tournament!"

* * *

Snape poured Draco Malfoy a measure of blood replenishing potion. He'd found his godson nearly comatose outside the Slytherin common room.

"Draco, was it Potter?" Snape asked urgently. If he could get witness evidence of misconduct on Potter's part, he'd be able to get the little shit expelled, although the brat would be allowed back (and only allowed back) for the Tournament Tasks.

Draco's head lifted, eyes still open wide as if to catch a glimpse of anything in the corner that might emerge with no notice. "NO! NO! Definitely NOT Potter! And not anyone near him! No!"

He clutched his left forearm, now a mass of scars. Snape, an expert in these matters, recognised it as an elaborate arrangement of runecraft done in deliberate scarwork, cut and then immediately charmed into disfigurement, binding Draco and his blood descendants into servitude to someone. Snape did not recognise the magical core signature implicit in the Runecraft, although Dumbledore might.

* * *

Harry stood up. "If I am to participate in this PR farce, it will be under my proper institute's name. Mr Crouch, please alter my entry to reflect the fact that I will be representing the Todd-Gein School of Power."

Crouch Senior, pale already, nodded ferociously. Mad-Eye /Moody/ had vanished and although no proof could be found, fingers were pointing at the young Potter already, who had a near-visible aura of black power even when he was not concentrating.

* * *

The audience for the First Task was very different to what the original three Headmasters had anticipated. The Master of the Todd-Gein School was there for a start, as was a select group of students, brought to participate in Hogwarts, just as Beauxbatons and Durmstang students were. (The continuation of the Tournament by all three original school-masters was taken by the magical artifact as an implicit including of the American School, and to their frustration all of the magical paperwork now read 'Quad-Wizard Tournament' and named the Todd-Gein School specifically as well as the original three.)

Harry Potter strode out of the tent, facing the nesting Horntail Dragon with a very unimpressed look on his face. "This is it?"

He walked forwards to the dragon, who studied him curiously. "This is the best that the three supposedly premier schools of wizardry can produce?"

"Mr Potter, please dispense with the commentary and proceed with the task at hand?" Dumbledore prompted him.

"Very well," Potter acknowledged. He focused on the dragonmother's eyes.

To the crowd's astonishment, the maternal dragon presented Harry with not the imposter, pretend egg, but one of her own! It floated in the air, strands of gold and black apppearing, entwining around both the egg and Harry, vanishing until both egg and Mage had merged into one. Harry strode forth with no fear, picking up the golden egg.

The crowd gasped as the serpentine head of the dragon bent down suddenly, releasing their breath again as the dragonmother's tongue flicked out briefly to taste Harry's hair.

"Done," Harry said. He added, mockingly, "Next?"

* * *

Yes, that's Todd-Gein as in Sweeny and Ed.


	19. Creature Contamination

Initial idea taken from the Buffy episode Aspect of the Demon. It's too freaking hot to sleep.

* * *

Harry wasn't very happy coming out of his first Potions lesson. Professor Snape had been awful to him, taking away quite a few points, not to mention the rest of Gryffindor that were in the room. He was hoping that his first lesson in Charms, which was next after lunch, was better.

He felt decidedly sick after chopping up frog livers and stewing them, and so elected to pass on lunch and find the Charms classroom first, where he found the small Professor Flitwick laying out feathers in preparation.

"My goodness, early, Mr Potter?" the small man squeaked.

"Er, yes," Harry said nervously. "Is that okay? I'm not hungry, and thought I could read or something..."

"Oh absolutely," Flickwick agreed. "Did Potions go alright? Learn about reactions and the awful things that can go wrong?"

"Er, not really," Harry said, brow wrinkled in confusion. "We just got told to cook the recipe on Professor Snape's blackboard, and I got in trouble when Neville's cauldron exploded."

"He didn't mention safety at all?" Flickwick asked rhetorically. "Well... I'll mention it to the class briefly, before we get into the meat and potatoes of Charms."

* * *

After taking the roll, Professor Flickwick started on a small lecture.

"Apologies to my esteemed colleague Professor Snape," he began, "but I feel it necessary to imprint laboratory safety necessities upon you."

"What?" Ron asked.

"It may interest you that both my parents were of normal stature," said the diminuitive Charms teacher. "I was of normal height, until the day of my accident. A potions researcher in a hurry in Diagon Alley spilt a bottle of gnome blood on me, and the Effect lingered."

"Effect?" Neville Longbottom asked.

"If an underage witch or wizard spills blood or private fluids from another species on themselves, there is the possibility that they will acquire an Aspect of that species, in effect becoming what is known as a 'halfbreed'," Flitwick explained.

"Why didn't that happen today?" Hermione Granger asked, fascinated by this. "Slug ooze must've gone over all the classroom when Neville's cauldron exploded today."

"Safety charms, Miss Granger," Flitwick said. "Learning laboratories like Hogwart's facilities have many safety charms upon them protecting learning brewers from just such accidents. You'll note that all gunk from the accident vanished from your clothes when you left the room, again thanks to the safety charms. Before you ask, professional rooms do not have these charms, as the brewers there are required to be certified, and the Charms interfere quite badly with some of the more advanced Potions."

"Is that the reason why most people don't brew their own potions?" Ron asked, surprised himself at contributing something.

"Yes, and five points to Gryffindor. Now, to Charms. Your pronunciation is one of the most..."

* * *

Harry rubbed his head. He was in Defense against the Dark Arts, and was desperately hoping that Professor Quirrel didn't know that he'd heard Professor Snape squeezing him for information on the Stone's safety precautions.

Unluckily for Harry, while Quirrel was facing the blackboard and writing, a malignant spirit capable of Legimencing while bored was facing out the back of said teacher's head.

The spirit of Voldemort knew that killing the boy outright would attract negative attention, and thought of a way of... incapacitating the boy for the rest of the year.

* * *

Harry rushed down the corridor after Hermione and Ron. The three of them were late to Herbology, and the other two were far ahead of him, being both taller than Harry. He saw out of the corner of his eye something falling towards him, but it was far too late to avoid it.

Hermione stopped immediately at the sound of screaming, turning to run back to Harry.

"Ron! Don't touch him!" she snapped, wand out. "We don't know what's wrong!"

"Quite wise, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said, coming down the corridor after them. "Stupefy. Levicorpus. I'll take Mr Potter to the Hospital Wing personally while the two of you continue to lessons."

After some protests, the Head of House allowed his two friends to come with him.

* * *

"Hmmmm."

"Is he alright, Poppy?"

"Possibly. He's either going to be in a coma from exposure to this Dragon's Blood, or Aspected."

"Oh dear, can't we do anything?" Hermione asked, wringing her hands.

"Far too late with too much exposure, I'm afraid," Madame Pomfrey said.

* * *

The good news was that Harry woke up in two weeks. The bad news was that he did wind up being Aspected from the blood that had covered him all over - Mr Potter now had a working pair of enormous draconic batwings that had very nearly given Headmaster Dumbledore a heart attack (averted by Madame Pomfrey's quick wandwork.)

The resulting second good news (from Harry's point of view) was that he would not be going back to the Dursleys, or the Muggle world, until he could cast a decent glamour spell to hide his new wings. The Headmaster was equally not happy with this as he was not happy with the wings to begin with.

The second bad news was that Draco Malfoy had a field day teasing Harry about it, calling him a poor copy of a real dragon (meaning himself, Draco).

Harry held that bad news to be a pittance beside the truly good news, and smiled as he flew under his own power, soaring on a thermal updraft over Hogwarts.

* * *

Harry panted. While he had wings, they were of no use to him in the Chamber of Secrets (and more of a hindrance). But the added chest muscles were useful as armour of a sort. Then again again, they had gotten in the way sliding down the pipe, and he thought he'd bruised a wingtip hitting the bottom.

Thinking quickly, he raised his sword up through the basilisk's mouth as it descended to bite him. Pulling the sword out of the dead serpent's head, Harry felt the blood once in it's brain cavity sluice down over him.

Feeling faint, Harry mumbled "Not again" before collapsing, the enchanted blade of a Hogwarts founder falling quite hard onto the little black diary which began to bleed black ink.

Ginevra would have a wicked scar from the sword hitting her, but that was better than her being dead from possession.

* * *

Harry poked around in his mouth, giving his dentistry a few experimental prods. His canines were now distinctively longer and his face, once quite thin, now had well defined cheekbones, which Madame Pomfrey had determined now hid a pair of venom sacs that supplied his new fangs.

His huge wings slumped. "Well, I guess I never was going to be normal, being the Boy Who Lived and all."


	20. Curser

James shivered. "Lily-love, who's that... old woman?"

Lily looked over, smiling slightly. "Great Aunt Diamanda. She lives in the Scottish Highlands, I haven't seen her for quite awhile."

"She looks dead creepy, and this is me saying this," Sirius said, he who had grown up under the care of Walburga Black.

"Well, it's time to present Harry," Lily said firmly. There might be a prophecy and whatnot about her baby boy, but that wasn't stopping her from being proud about Harry.

* * *

After the ceremony, the ancient old crone tottered up to Lily, who was holding Harry. She held up... what looked like a wand, made of segments of bone bound with age blackened leather. She waved it above the newborn, chanting in a language that made all the mages present shiver.

"What... what was that?" Lily gasped. "I didn't know you're a witch, Aunt Diamanda!"

The old woman smiled, almost fondly, down at the babe. "This child... I have bestowed upon him my blessing, only to be given to one, and one only person."

"What is it?" James asked bravely, not willing to be left out.

"Any that wrong him while he grows shall repay him, whether it be through true contrition or through gifts unwillingly given," Diamanda said. "And no more shall I say on this. Is he still keeping you up at night, little Lily?"

"He's starting to settle down," Lily admitted, deciding to ignore the spell-like thing earlier, and the Dark looking 'wand'. "He's still breastfeeding, he's newborn yet."

"Awww... Gytha would have loved him, but she was before your time dear," Diamanda said, tickling Harry under the chin.

* * *

Harry panted roughly, hiding under the massive flowering shrub as an angry five year old Dudley looked for him. Was it really his fault that his cousin had failed the maths test completely? Dudley hadn't managed to answer a single question correctly, and Harry had found it absurdly easy to complete. The teacher had found him absently doodling in a maths book which had letters instead of numbers, and had fainted completely when she'd found his answers correct.

As he caught his breath, he wrinkled his nose at Dudley's friends. Piers Polkiss still drooled onto his shoes when he stood still like a two year old, and the rest of Dudley's gang were no better. But given the way that all of them had done their level best to beat Harry senseless for all his recollection, he had no sympathy.

Dudley still had to ask a teacher to tie his shoelaces when he kicked his shoes off! Harry was so glad that he was smarter by far than his cousin.

* * *

Harry yawned loudly. Draco Malfoy had insulted him and tried to get his goons to beat Harry up, so Harry had no sympathy when Draco's feather resolutely refused to twitch when he attempted to cast Professor Flitwick's spell, Wingardium Leviosa. Another feather that just happened to have been given to Harry loop-de-looped a few times before executing a barrel roll.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so Diamanda's curse was that, if someone of Harry's age abuses Harry, any mental or magical development that child would normally develop after that is added to Harry's own development until that opponent sincerely apologises. And if you're wondering, yes, Dudley and all his sycophants winds up a grown man with the mental age of, perhaps, a five year old. And Harry able to challenge any recent graduate of MIT at ten or younger.


	21. First Task

Personally, I tend to think of two legged, winged lizards as wyverns and NOT dragons. More a lesser species. Stupid-ass movie directors.

* * *

Hermione blinked. "Harry, haven't you been working on your animagus form? You know, over summer since you learnt that your father and god-father managed it while still in school?"

Harry grinned. "You're right! I've about got it, too!"

"Well, is it useful to you against a dragon?" Hermione asked in a slow tone of voice, as one would speak to another more slow of thinking.

"Absolutely," Harry nodded.

"Well, what is it?" Hermione said behind clenched teeth. Getting information from Harry was like pulling teeth sometimes.

"An Azerothian Black," Harry beamed.

"You mean a dragon? A really big, nasty dragon with four legs and wings, as opposed to most dragons' two legs and wings?" Hermione asked, wanting to be sure.

"Absolutely," Harry nodded.

"Wizard!" Ron cheered. The prestige from a mate having a magical animagus form might just rub off onto him!

* * *

Harry strode forth into the field, where a stroppy Hungarian Horntail was glaring at him from her perch atop her nest of eggs. Absently, he wondered how on earth a pack of merely human dragonkeepers managed to move a nesting dragon.

He shifted into his black dragon form, and took a defensive stance as the Hungarian charged him, wings spread in preparation to take to the air, mouth open, ready to erupt in flames.

What he was NOT ready for, however, was for the female dragon to...

Erm...

Well, Hermione called it molestation of the worst order (Harry could clearly hear her from the stands.)

As for Harry... if in polite company, he'd call it restocking her nest, at best. Showing her a good time, at least.

Er...

Well, making doubtful about ever bothering to return to human form, at the least.

Now that he thought about it, that Welsh Green was a tasty piece of tail, too...


	22. Flying High Dug Low

This is distinctly non-canonical, and I'm fair certain non-biblical. If anyone wants to take it and run with it, go nuts.

* * *

Vernon was watching the television with Dudley, Petunia was having a go at needlepoint (having read in her magazine that it was the coming fashion to be skilled at it), and Harry was cleaning up in the kitchen from tea. A brisk knock on the door interrupted the scene of (nearly) normality.

Petunia got up, and looked through her peephole that she loved almost as much as her net curtains that hid her so well while she spied on others, as she did now. After seeing who it was, she rushed to Vernon.

"Vernon, it's a man in a silk suit!" she hissed, loudly. "And a Rolls-Royce!"

Vernon snapped to his feet, straightening his clothes. "No time to get changed - am I tidy, pet? Boy, stay there and /be quiet!/"

He opened the door as Petunia nervously tidied her thin dress. "Good evening, sir, is there any way we can help you?"

The man was immensely handsome, almost beautiful, with piercing green eyes that seemed to see through Vernon to the hall beyond.

"Please allow me to introduce myself," he said quietly, in a voice that still managed to carry to the surrounding houses. "I'm a man of wealth and taste, been around for many a year. My name is Morning Star."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr Morningstar," Vernon said, bowing slightly, cutting a comic figure as he did so. He'd misheard the man's introduction. "If there is anything we can do at all?"

"I understand that you have a small boy named Harry under your guardianship?" Morning Star asked.

"Er, yes," Vernon said, now visibly embarrassed. "A bad boy, I'm afraid, done all we can, but..."

"I see," Morning Star said, noncommittal. He pulled a sheaf of documents out. "I wish to take guardianship and custody of the boy. I have here the paperwork for it, and am prepared to compensate you for the loss of an undoubtedly loved nephew."

By now some of the neighbours were visibly watching.

Vernon took the papers with shaking fingers. "Er, if I could..."

"By all means," the man said, amused.

A few minutes later, Vernon returned to the door, pushing Harry in front of him. "Your offer is most agreeable, sir, we've signed, if you would?"

The man signed in the necessary places, and handed the papers to Vernon, who pushed Harry to go with the man.

"Come, Harry," the man said, in a surprisingly gentle voice.

* * *

A week later, the surprisingly religious town of Little Whinging was buzzing with gossip of how Vernon Dursley had sold his own flesh and blood to the Morning Star - to Satan himself!

The small family wound up having to move far away, almost to Scotland to get away from their former home. None of the shopkeepers would sell anything to the man or the wife of the man who made deals with the devil, and Vernon refused to go out of town just for groceries.

* * *

The man drove, answering Harry's questions in infuriatingly vague ways, driving until he got to a quiet little rest stop in the country, where he got out and gestured to Harry to get out of the car. Harry was shaking with fear by now. Was the man some kind of criminal? Did he steal the Rolls-Royce? Did he stop here so he'd have somewhere to hide Harry's body?

"I have something to admit to you now, Harry," the man said. "You... are my grandson."

"But you're too young for that," Harry protested, shocked out of his fear by surprise.

"If I was human I would be," the man said. Four white wings of feathers sprouted from his back, ripping his nice suit quite badly. "But I am not, and you are not, either."

"Wow," Harry breathed. "What /are/ we, then?"

"Cherubim," the man said. "Partly, in your case."

"I don't get it," Harry said. "Aren't cherubs little babies with wings?"

"/No/," the man said with a frown. "I'm a warrior angel, or was, anyway."

"Oh," Harry said. He blinked as he realised something. "Does that mean that... that I could have wings too? That I could /fly/?"

A note of longing could clearly be heard.


	23. Harry of the Silver Hand

Harry, while only just over a year old, could feel at a certain level just how much the Dursley family did not want him. Lying in his small cot in the cupboard under the stairs, he unconsciously wished as hard as he could to be anywhere but there.

With a small pop, the Boy Who Lived disappeared.

* * *

"Lord Uther! A baby appeared in the woods!"

"Has any woman claimed a missing babe, then?"

"No, sir, but... you'd best look yourself."

"By the Light! We'd best deal with this immediately - ask Father Feist to come and help with a cleansing ceremony."

* * *

Harry knew he was an orphan, and also that he was lucky to have been raised by the Knights of the Silver Hand. When he had first been found by them, Harry had been told that a filthy, foul soulshard had been buried in the now almost faded scar on his forehead. (Lord Uther the Lightbringer, founder of the Knights of the Silver Hand, had speculated that one of the fouler of the warlock orders had experimented to create some manner of human-demon hybrid.)

From the time he could walk, Harry had trailed after the students in Alonsus Chapel in Stratholme, copying boyishly their motions with the sword, listening with them to the priest teaching them their lessons. It had devastated Harry deeply when Lord Uther had been murdered, as the man had been nearly a father to him.

But, now that he had been initiated himself as a Paladin, he intended to go out into the world himself, to do good works in the name of the Light.

* * *

Harry slammed his shield with his left hand, even as he felt the prayers of the one behind him reinforce him. Taking courage from this, he gestured with his sword-filled right hand and called Judgement upon the undead abomination before him, then hit it with his sword with an ease borne of long practice.

Ignoring the now-corpse, he turned to his companion. "Ilion, is that all of them?"

The Mage-Priest nodded. Her long ears bobbed at the top of her head, even as Harry almost melted into her glowing blue eyes. "Yes, Harry. Shall we return to the Ebon Vault, now?"

Harry grimaced. "I don't like working with those... death knights, but for Highlord Fordring I will."

"I know what you mean," the High Elf, said, suddenly turning and hugging Harry, plate armour and all. "The stench of death alone..."

* * *

Harry whirled, drawing his sword and shield with an ease borne of long practice, facing the mages who had drawn Ilion and he from Northrend.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" Harry snarled. While normally easygoing, he was always on edge when near the Lich King's citadel. He put Ilion behind him, where he could protect her better.

* * *

Harry blinked. "A minor lich? That's it? That's why you pulled me away from the major counterstrike in Icecrown Citadel? To deal with a minor lich calling itself a Lord?"

* * *

No, it's nowhere near done, and nowhere near cohorent, but it's been preying on my mind for a wee bit.

If you're into shipping, feel free to add a relationship between Harry and his elf, add little half-elfs if you want.


	24. Texas Chainsaw Wizardry

Petunia scowled as she opened the door to a man who was both the most unwelcome person in the world, and also the one that she and Vernon wanted to talk to most. "Dumbledore."

"Petunia," Albus twinkled, entering. "How is little Harry? And your Dudley."

"Dudley's doing fine," Vernon growled, not wanting a freak dwelling on his pride and joy. "But the little bastard is why we want to talk to you."

"You finally admitted in that letter that the wards to protect him are based on the two of us being kin," Petunia said. "You messed up! Lily was no true sister of mine - our parents adopted when they thought Mother was barren, before she had me."

"She... isn't?" Dumbledore asked, taken aback.

"No! She's kin to a family in America. Texas."

* * *

Four year old Harry had been through a whirlwind of change. A very old man indeed had taken him out of his cupboard (managing to both smile at him and scowl at Aunt P'tunia at the same time), and in the blink of an eye the two of them were on a baking hot road somewhere called Texas. He thought. Harry waved to the bird that had sat on the old man's shoulder as it took wing, flying up into the air.

"Bye bye bird!" Harry yelled, feeling happy at the prospect of not having to see his aunt ever again.

Dumbledore knocked on the door to the old farmstead. A bit of research had shown that the family was a line of squibs from the old Sawyer line, once well to do mages in the New World, now in somewhat reduced circumstances due to the peculiarities of laws regarding squibs and inheritance.

A homely looking man answered the door. "What can I do for you?"

"Drayton Sawyer?" Dumbledore asked, taking an educated guess. The man nodded. Harry was pushed in front of Dumbledore. "This is your nephew, Harry, son of your sister Lily who was adopted in England by the Evans family."

The man looked taken aback, then smiled down at Harry. "I always thought that little Lily shouldn't have been taken away, but those darn smoothtalkin' lawyers..."

Dumbledore nodded grimly. The laws at the time in America stated that a child of magical ability was not to be raised by squibs or muggles, and the Sawyer family had put her up for adoption in Britain rather than bow to the old blood in government. The law in question had only lasted half a decade, but that had been long enough to do damage.

"Thank you for bringin' him to us," Drayton said. He crouched down to Harry's level. "Harry, I'm yer uncle Drayton. Would you like to live with me an' yer other kin here?"

"Yes!" Harry yelled. He'd already lived with socalled family that hated him, there was half a chance that this branch of family might like him.

* * *

"Harry, this is your Great Grandpa. Grandpa, this is your great grandson Harry."

Harry, not sure what to do, bowed shakily to the very, very old man. He looked even older than that man Dumbledore!

"Grandpa might look old, but he's just as fast as ever, it's his liquid diet that does it," Drayton said.

"Oh! The blood?" Harry asked. He'd been introduced to the family's traditions - they were the opposite of the Dursley's morals, and as far as Harry was concerned that wasn't a bad thing.

"Yeah yeah yeah," Uncle Chop Top said, scratching on the metal plate on his head again.

Harry's other uncle, 'Leatherface', carefully fed Grandpa the blood from the latest kill. Harry started to worry when Grandpa didn't do anything other than drink it down.

"Great Grandpa? Grandpa!" Harry yelled, hugging the old man's fragile hand as hard as he dared. An octarine flare of magic rose around little boy and ancestor, and the old man's eyes opened wide for the first time in many decades.

"Grand... sons... my... family..."

"GRANDPA!" Uncle Chop Top and uncle Drayton yelled in jubilation, seeing Grandpa shakily get up for the first time in a long time, not to mention talk.

* * *

Dumbledore approached the farmstead door. Harry had been living safely with blood kin for seven years now, and he felt it proper to offer a place in Hogwarts personally to the son of two people that he had failed so horribly.

A man who looked as old as Dumbledore himself answered the door. A faint smell of blood lingered about his person, but Dumbledore chalked it up to the fact that there was always some killing to be done at a farm - chickens, vermin, other things.

* * *

A/N Idea I got that wouldn't go away. Yes, Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I haven't put in gore-stuff, can't really do it justice. Dumbledore doesn't see that when he visits - he just sees a backwoods family, and doesn't push into their private lives or rooms (horribly rude, you know.)

Grandpa wasn't turned into a vampire, Harry's accidental magic just altered his metabolism so that the old man genuinely does get all his nourishment from blood, and also improved Grandpa's health many times over.

A scene in the future would be Harry holding a wandless Peter Pettigrew over the metal tub with a Petrificus Totalus, and Grandpa killing him with the hammer - without missing, or being too feeble to hit hard enough. Draco would go 'missing' the first chance Harry got (a growing boys gotta eat.)


	25. Under Harry's Thumb

Ron nearly spewed his breakfast over the table when he saw Harry and Hermione walk into the Great Hall. As it was, a few crumbs escaped his face. Pavarti Patil, three seats down, wrinkled her nose in disgust at both Harry and Ron.

Why Harry? Because, quite simply, Hermione had a thick black collar around her throat, with no visible catch. A slim steel chain led from the collar to Harry's hand, where it was wrapped a few times around to ensure it did not slip.

"Harry! What're you DOING?" Ron bellowed, splattering more crumbs.

Harry looked at Ron dismissively, with the kind of expression that Draco would sell his mother for glue for. "I've finally conquered the last obstacle, so why not? Slave, explain."

Her eyes still demurely facing the ground, Hermione spoke up in a soft voice. "As victor over me, Master is my Master."

"Explain WHY, slave," Harry growled, flicking the chain. "Drop your glamour."

Hermione suddenly had two black batwings, a pair of very small horns, a tail, and cloven hooves. "Very well, my Master. As a Muggleborn, I am not a proper magician, but a changeling demon."

"Wait, does this mean," Pavarti asked, eyes wide, wand up.

Dumbledore and the other teachers were mildly amused and waiting to see how this panned out.

"That Muggleborns are, rather, demons?" Justin Finch-Fletchley spoke up from the Hufflepuff table. He suddenly resembled something decidedly Cthulhu-ish, the purebloods sitting near him scattering. "Most of them are. There is the occasional sport that is a genuine witch or wizard born of Muggle stock."

"But... but..." Ron sputtered. He spotted Harry. "You! Your mother! If she was a demon, how did V-V-You Know Who kill her?"

Harry suddenly grew two feet as he gained huge black feathered wings and his face grew even more terrible, yet beautiful. Unlike Hermione, he had no horns, tail, nor hooves, just an unworldly air, unnatural beauty, and his black wings.

"That filthy Impspawn Riddle dared think he could kill one of the Fallen with no consequence," Harry spat. A dark smile spread on his lips. "As we speak now, his immortal soul roasts."

There was a few minutes of silence, then every other child in the hall screamed out loud and ran for it.

Naturally, there was a full page article on the Prophet's front page, with penseive-gained memory-photographs.

* * *

Two days later...

Harry nearly growled out loud. "Look, you twits! It was a prank, okay? We got some of us to do some glamours, and others to play along! It was a joke!"

Ron shook his head sadly. "It'll have shot around the world by now, mate, and even if you do publish that it was a joke, enough people'll still believe it for..."

"For what?" Harry asked snappishly.

"Turn around?" Ron asked. As Harry did so, he lifted his mate's shirt. "Stop whining, I want to show you something."

"What, Ron? YEOWCH!"

Ron brandished a black feather that he had plucked from Harry's back. "Did that feel like a glamour to you, mate? Even I know not to do that kind of thing!"

"I'm not a demon!" Harry protested.

"You're not talking about Rupert Giles' Principle of Quantum Belief, are you?" Hermione whimpered, paling. "I thought it was a joke or something!"

Ron shrugged. "Nope, it's true, if enough people believe something on a magical convergence, or are themselves magical, it'll happen. And if it's wizards ON a magical convergence... it's part of why You Know Who has so much power."

Hermione felt at her hairline, where two small pinpoints could be seen.

Harry and Hermione both whimpered.

* * *

A/N Believe it or not, the original idea came from the Stones "Under My Thumb".


	26. A Later Meeting

James sighed heavily.

"Don't worry mate, it isn't as if we've found anyone either," his best mate Sirius said, patting him on the back (in a manly fashion.) "C'mon, we're graduating!"

"I guess. That meeting with Headmaster Dumbledore is tonight, isn't it?"

* * *

"Ah, welcome, boys. I'd like to offer to you the opportunity to join the Order of the Phoenix, an elite group dedicated to the eradication of the Dark Lord."

"I think you lost James, sir," Peter Pettigrew squeaked, a bit more courageous now that he had his diploma in hand and didn't have to hide from the teachers for fear it would be held back to bribe a lack of pranks.

Dumbledore blinked, noticing that the Potter Heir was, indeed, staring at someone other than himself.

"Ah, I see you've met the newest allies to the Order," Dumbledore said.

"No, but I'd like to," James said, eyes still glued to the green-eyed redhead sitting in the corner of the Headmaster's office.

"Lily, Lily Potter," she said offering her hand. "Weretiger."

* * *

"Prongs, are you sure about this?" Remus hissed, using the nickname as a subtle indication that he was saying this as a mate. "I mean, werecats can't do wanded magic! Any kids you have will be the same way!"

"Doesn't matter," James said firmly. "I love her. And she's bloody scary with that Ritual Magic of hers anyway."

* * *

"Awwww, isn't he cute," the midwife coo'ed. Lily smiled wanly as her newborn son clung to her breast hungrily.

"How come his eyes are shut?" James asked, puzzled.

"Cubs are born that way," Lily said, absently reaching down with her head and licking her cub's soft fur clean. "James, do you want to hold him?"

The sight of a man who had once disemboweled a Death Eater and then Banished him blanching at the thought of holding his own child made everyone else grin.

* * *

Voldemort approached the house carefully. While they couldn't cast magic as he knew it, meaning that if you caught them unawares you just had to deal with their physical brute force, if a werecat knew you were coming you could generally expect wards and ritual charms of all sorts.

Which was why he'd brought along the two Death Eaters who were also professional wardbreakers.

* * *

Dumbledore held the baby carefully, wincing as Harry's claws dug in briefly. He was somewhat sure that the young male weretiger was dreaming of hunting. With the other hand, he slid a finger over the large gemstone Hagrid had also brought.

"The last Ritual of Lily Potter," he murmured.

"Per'fessor?" Hagrid rumbled.

"I believe that here, Lily trapped the remaining soul of Voldemort," Dumbledore said, "in an effort that despite her death, we'd find a way to finally deal with him."

Tears immediately grew in Hagrid's eyes.

"There, there, Hagrid," Dumbledore said. "Her and James' son still lives. I honestly do not know where he will live now, though. Perhaps with Lily's clan of weretigers, or with a small family of werejaguars who owe me a favour for correcting a small defect. Yes."

* * *

A/N: Okay, basic inspiration was after reading some more Gold Digger stuff on the Anime Addventure. Make of that what you will. The twist I introduced, though, was that werecats are unable to cast wanded magic, but instead are very, very gifted with ritual type stuff (think Druids, or Buffy-style.)


	27. GD Nibblet

Vernon tried to pass money to the cloaked figure in (what he thought was) a subtle manner.

"So you can send the little shit to another world?" he mumbled. While he hated magic, loathed it, he was willing to put up with a magic-user for ten seconds in order to rid his life of someone destined to use the foul stuff.

"Indeed," a dark voice said.

"Here's what I heard you needed," Vernon said, passing the cloaked figure a handerchief soaked in human blood.

Unseen, the mage sweatdropped. "... snot would've done, even."

* * *

Young Harry felt mildly nauseous as the world tilted and swirled around him. Not that he knew what the words meant, he'd just heard the kindy teacher use them.

Reality came back into focus, and Harry was relieved when he saw he was headed towards something his underage brain perceived as a soft landing space - a bed. Unfortunately, he saw people in the way - the weirdest kittycats he'd ever seen.

* * *

Tirgest roared as he unloaded into the rump of his tigress mate, collapsing onto her back as they recovered from their lovemaking.

Panting, coming down from their sexual high, his mate asked, "Where did the human child come from, and why is he in our bed, Tirgest?"

The male weretiger groaned as he looked at the human child, now liberally covered in scratches and weretiger fluids (both sweat and other substances, thanks to the circumstances in which he'd arrived.

"Oh, crud."

* * *

Dumbledore hated to do this, but he was getting desperate. Harry Potter, prophesied saviour, publicly pronounced Boy-Who'd-Lived, had failed to attend Hogwarts at age eleven and, at age fourteen, had failed to stop Lord Voldemort from resurrecting himself (and killing the poor Diggory boy in the process.)

Four years after the resurrection of the Dark Lord, he found himself forced to perform a borderline-Dark ritual to summon Voldemort's enemy, the one who could defeat Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Twelve other members of the Order of the Phoenix chanting, all of the students of Hogwarts watching in witness, he summoned him. Their one last, remaining hope.

A massively muscled, seven or eight feet tall tiger man appeared. Dumbledore wasn't sure of the height of the individual, because he was hunched over a female, obviously pregnant tiger woman, having dirty passionate animal sex. Several underage students covered their noses discreetly.

Panting, the tigerman came down from his sexual high and stared around him. "Hey, find your own mate, stop acting like my brother."

"...what?" Professor McGonagall asked faintly.

"If you want to get laid like my (admittedly adopted) brother Tirga, find your own damn bedmate, and stop perving at my lifemate," the tigerman growled, huge muscles growing taunt in preparation to move.

Dumbledore suddenly came to his senses and transfigured a sheet around the naked tigerwoman's breasts and groin (much to the vocal displeasure of the male pubescent students) and a second sheet around the male tigerman's penis and balls (to the less audible female pubescent students' displeasure.)

"We merely need your assistance in destroying the Dark Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore protested, far past any stirring of the flesh.

"Is that all? Ask the mage's council," the male weretiger growled. He brought his left hand up to snap his fingers. "Now, if you don't mind, my mate and I have business I'd rather do than talk."


	28. Haddit Dumbledore

Harry groaned as he woke up. His last memory was of defeating the Dark Lord, Voldemort, with a wellplaced Avada Kedavra (after destroying Riddle's horcruxes, and after Riddle inadvertently destroyed his horcrux within Harry) while Professor Dumbledore singlehandedly held off all of Riddle's many minions.

"Harry? Are you awake?" the Headmaster's voice asked.

"Yeah," Harry muttered.

Dumbledore sighed. "A great many things have happened, Harry, during the days you slept and recovered from your heroic battle. The Daily Profit have published a tale completely contrary to what truly happened, the Ministry is backing them to the hilt, and everyone I speak to claim that you are trying to steal the Auror's thunder, as it were."

Harry smiled wanly. "Somehow, sir, I'm not surprised."

The doors to the Hospital Wing burst open as Professor McGonagall blasted through them. "Headmaster Dumbledore! The Ministry have a warrant out for your arrest!"

Dumbledore studied the short article, detailing how he was to be arrested for creating a private army, and insinuating that it was closely involved with the Death Eaters. (It was, true, but to defeat them. The paper didn't mention that at all.)

"I am wearied of this world," Dumbledore said. "And so, I think I shall leave it."

"No!" Harry yelled. "It's not that bad, I don't want you dying too!"

Dumbledore looked surprised. "No, I meant for another world. Jade, perhaps."

"I think I shall stay here," Professor McGonagall said. "Someone has to take care of the young innocents within these walls. Both of you have already more than done your duty."

"Thank you, Minerva," Dumbledore said. "Madam Pomfrey, I fear we must leave."

Harry, normally never inclined towards physical contact a single bit, hugged the school nurse fiercely. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey, for everything."

Poppy Pomfrey hugged him back just as warmly. "You're a good, dear child, and never let anyone tell you otherwise. Now, I have this elixir here to restore your energy. It's expensive, so don't let any drip on the ground!"

Dumbledore nodded. "I've already retrieved my personal objects and yours, Harry, if you'll forgive me the impertinence. We must descend to the Chamber of Secrets for another package before we leave."

* * *

Harry looked around Diagon Alley. Most of the people there looked disapproving of the Professor and himself. He had a small backpack on, and the Headmaster had a satchel and a tall wooden staff.

"People! I have defended this world since Grindlewald, and am tired of looking after people too fearful to defend themselves, or think for themselves," Dumbledore boomed, under the influence of a Sonorus. "My apprentice and I are therefore leaving for another world. Any who wish to join us should call my phoenix, Fawkes, and he will carry you. Quietus!"

"Fawkes!" Harry cried out, and the Firebird grabbed both himself and Dumbledore in those fierce talons. All three vanished in a ball of fire.

* * *

"Where are we?" Harry asked the Pro-no, his Master now, as they walked down a country road.

"We are on Jade, a most magical world, and going to meet an old friend of mine called Brod," Dumbledore answered. "I think you should like him quite well, Harry. He's always reminded me of what Hagrid could have achieved with magic - something I've always regretted."

* * *

Less than an hour later, a massive half-giant was standing in the middle of Seers Hamlet, a town in Jade, eyes wide open, mouth catching flies, pink umbrella hanging loosely from one massive hand.

"Everythin's so beautiful," Hagrid beamed, looking around. "Say! Has anyone seen Headmaster Dumbledore? Great man, he is."


	29. Harry And Anko

A HP/Naruto crossover idea that I bet you've never seen before.

* * *

Anko was scouting out Training Area 44. She was desperate to make Chuunin, do some missions solo, and try and build up a name for herself, distinct and separate from "Orochimaru's Apprentice." She'd heard that 44 was popular with the Examiners when the Chuunin Exams were held in Konoha (it was Konoha's turn, next, and Anko wanted the home turf advantage.)

/Hey,/ a voice called out to her.

She halted immediately, pulling out a kunai and holding it in a guard position. "Who's there?"

/Someone who wants to, possibly, work with you,/ the voice said.

"Oro.. oro... Master?" Anko whispered. The voice had a 'feel' to it (for lack of a better word) of snake, to her.

/No,/ the voice said, now sounding distinctly annoyed as well as male. /In the tree ahead of you. Yes. This one./

Anko studied it. "But there's no one there, not even an animal except for... no way..."

The massive reticulated python lowered his head to eyelevel with the genin apprentice girl. She knew that animals in Area 44 were bigger than normal, but it took a non-summon snake with eyes as big as cricket balls for it to sink in. Knowing personally just how fast snakes could strike, Anko did her best to appear non-threatening and also not food.

/Yes,/ the snake hissed. /I want to work with you./

* * *

Anko stared at the snake. She didn't care if staring was rude, it was her own apartment and if the snake didn't like it, she had good reason.

"I can speak snake?" she asked, still unsure.

/Yes,/ the snake said. He said his name was 'Harry'. /I was once a human snake-speaker myself - it's called Parseltongue, by the way, and people who can speak it are Parselmouths./

"Hold on," Anko said, waving her arms. "You're not a human snake-sp- er, Parselmouth. You're a giant python."

/Given enough time, Parselmouths don't die so much as pass onto another form,/ Harry-python said, sounding amused now. /Except for those who twist and abuse their soul and their talents./

"This is sooo cool," Anko grinned. "Now I'm glad that Sen-no, Orochimaru didn't let me sign his stupid contract."

/Manda's contract? The contract to the Vipers?/ Harry asked. /They're assholes. The Python contract is a lot better. I think some of my descendants joined that clan, after they passed on./

"Where'd I get this ability from?" Anko asked, fascinated with the idea that she could speak to any snakes, not just the summoned ones like everyone else.

/Family bloodline, probably,/ Harry said. /My great-grandmother was an Indonesian Parselmouth that my great-grandfather married while he was travelling overseas, and the talent was passed on from her. It was latent, though, until it became active in me at 15 months old./

"We're going to kick so much ass," Anko grinned. "Just wait till we beat the crap out of that stupid chuunin exam!"

* * *

A/N: Voldemort never turned into a snake because of his immortality research and Horcruxes. Not a canon idea, just something I came up with. It explains why Slytherin left Hogwarts (not an argument, just not wanting to hand out 'family secrets' to all of Wizarding Britain.


	30. Mature Boy

Credit where it's due to Calum for giving it a going-over. Any stuffups are purely my own fault for titu-ing after he'd checked, and in no way his.

* * *

"You understand, Igor?"

"Yeth, Marthter," a voice lisped. "Ith you are inhumed, I am to thind your heir and inthruct him ath the new Lord Mortith."

The voice didn't question the Master. It wasn't Done to Ask Questions. Not major ones, anyway.

"Quite right," the Master said. "That great hypocrite tied his spell of Familial Exile to my life force, and my heir is not able to even see the estate until I am dead."

"Yeth, Marthter."

"It will fall to you, of course, to raise the boy in a manner befitting his station."

"Yeth, Marthter."

* * *

Vernon didn't drink to excess a great deal, but he was on his way that evening, sipping a bottle of whisky that normally sat in the kitchen for cooking while entertaining guests. A bang on the door made him sit up.

"I'll get it," Petunia called out.

"No need, I will," Vernon said. Pet had been a right saint, looking after both dear Dudley and that little freak of nature today.

Opening the door, Vernon closed it again. Then he opened it a second time. But the person was still there.

Well... Vernon thought person might've been a bit strong. The person's face was covered with stitches, one shoulder was higher than the other, and his back was hunched, slightly.

"What is it?" Vernon asked rudely.

"I hath come for the new Lord Mortith," the man lisped.

"Who? Do you mean the freak?" Vernon asked, forehead wrinkling in confusion. He'd gone past upset, and was floating in the calm before angry.

"Lady Evan'th child," the man furthered.

"You want him you can have him," Vernon said. There wasn't any paperwork that could trace the boy here, after all. "Petunia! Bring the freak here!"

"There wath no paperwork with him?" the strange man asked.

"No, just this... letter," Vernon shuddered, thrusting both babe and paper into the man's arms. "Go, take him and leave, and never bother us again!"

"Very well, but remember that your withe can alwayth call on the Houthe of Mortith, thur."

* * *

Harry woke at six in the morning, precisely, and got up. He had a brief shower, and then dressed in his normal suit (that the seamstress had enchanted to resize to fit him as he grew, just like his other seven suits). He entered the dining room to find Igor waiting with a letter to go with his normal breakfast.

"Good morning, Igor," Harry said. "Mail today?"

"Yeth, Marthter," the man lisped. "From Hogwarth Thcool of Witchcratht and Withardry, thur."

Harry broke the waxen seal and began to read through it as he ate his breakfast. Igor patiently waited until the Master finished.

"This will create a lot of bother," Harry frowned. "I'm at a delicate stage in my research right now."

"Yeth, Marthter."

"Send a reply asking a representative to attend me, Igor," Harry said. "Hmm. Tomorrow if they can manage it - I'm sure that seeing me complete my guardian construct will impress upon them just how much I don't need to learn cantrips."

"Yeth, Marthter. Thall I thend for Mithter Wallace today, thur?"

Harry frowned. "Well... all the welding has been done, but there are still some runes left to etch, plus some heavy lifting... yes, send for him."

* * *

Professor McGonagall had narrowly managed to wangle the honour of answering Mr Potter's letter. Dumbledore had wanted to send Hagrid, until Minerva had pointed out that a boy who had his own servant to reply to letters might not be terribly impressed by an academic institution sending their groundskeeper to woo him.

She knocked on the door to the huge mansion, and managed not to wince when the servant answered the door. It was a narrow thing, though, and she couldn't resist the urge to look a bit too long at the stitching all over him.

"Are you here to vithit the Marthter on Hogwarth buthineth, Milady?" he asked.

"Er... yes, quite," she got out.

"Thith way, pleathe," the man said, stumping into the house. "My name ith Igor."

McGonagall followed him down a corridor, down another one, and finally down a flight of stairs to a set of chambers beneath the mansion before the man paused.

"The marthter ith completing a project at the moment," the servant lisped. "Pleathe wait for him to finithh before interrupting."

She nodded, breath-taken at the sight before her. A massive, huge serpent made of bronze rested on a long wooden bench with a burly man in a pair of heavy canvas workman's trousers and a leather apron wiping a last section clean with an oiled cloth.

"She's ready, Boss," the man called out to...

Minerva blinked. A boy of perhaps eleven (almost certainly Harry) stood at the head of the metal snake. But he was the most un-boy-like boy she'd ever seen. He was the first to wear a three-piece suit, and wear it well, for a start, right down to a small gold chain going to what had to be a pocket-watch in his waistcoat.

Harry raised his arms, and blue lightning began to flash around them, almost... /flowing/ down onto the construct, pooling in what she perceived were runes carved inside the metal serpent, until finally he stopped, arms flopping to his side, panting.

It took all of her iron self-control to not faint when the massive metal construct began to move. "Mr... Potter?"

He looked up. "Ah, the representative from Hogwarts. Igor, we will be having tea upstairs. Mr Wallace, Igor will see to your payment as we agreed upon."

"'Twer an honour, Lord Mortis," the workman said, starting to clean up the tools in the large dungeon.

* * *

Minerva sipped at the tea which, she had to admit, was quite good. "So, you see, as the premier wizarding school in Europe, Hogwarts would be a superlative choice for your teenage schooling."

Harry nodded. "For a normal child, perhaps, but I am at a busy period in my research and too many of my projects would fall behind schedule should I take time out to attend your school."

"If I may, what are some of them?" Minerva asked, curious despite herself. She expected a childish answer of, say, something along the lines of simple chemistry or the like.

"The most massive of them... you are, I hope, aware of the tremendous prejudice in this world?" Harry asked.

"The current divide between the purebloods and the rest of the wizarding world?" Minerva asked in return.

"Partially," Harry said, "but also the racial prejudices, and so many others."

"Of course, but I don't follow how a project of yours would relate," the Professor said, brow wrinkled in light confusion.

"My project is to eliminate all reason for this prejudice by confusing the issue beyond comprehension."

Minerva shook her head. "I still don't follow, I'm afraid."

"It really is quite simple," Harry said. "Why bother being bigoted when your once-enemy is now, say, an Orc, and you yourself are, perhaps, a Dwarf?"

A moment of silence stretched out while Minerva chewed that over in her mind, before it clicked. "You have to be joking! An eleven year old child, do transfiguration like that? It's not as if people are going to line up and let you do that in the first place!"

Harry smiled. Despite herself, Minerva was beginning to think of him as a remarkably short sorcerer rather than an eleven year old boy.

"Oh, it isn't going to be one at a time, dear lady. It's going to be everyone at once. Every single human being, all over the world. Every pureblood, every halfblood, every muggle, everyone, all at once."

Her fingers went slack, the delicate bone china teacup dropping to where Igor deftly caught it, placed it on the table, and then retired to wherever he went.

"The... the sheer power needed," she whispered.

"That... won't be a problem," Harry edged, delicately. "My servant here has been placing crystals to collect mana all over the globe, relaying them to a central storage crystal of unusual size here at Mortis Estate. Another crystal of even larger size has been enchanted to carry out the global phenomenon when linked to my storage of mana. The only remaining problem is the enchantments on the larger crystal - it would speed things up a tad if you could lend your expertise."

"My expertise," Minerva said distantly.

"I'd compensate you, of course," said the eleven year old in a finely tailored suit. "Igor, my complements to your lady on the tea, most delicious."

"I thall tell mitheth Igor directly, thur," Igor bowed from behind Harry.

Harry wasn't of an age yet to entertain such thoughts as things pertaining directly to him, but he sometimes wondered if Igor's wife was attracted to him partially because of his unbelievable surgery skills with grafting species to completely different species, and the adult time fun that could cause.

"I'd be honoured to examine it in a professional capacity," Minerva rallied. "With the understanding that I'd have moral qualms about using it, of course."

* * *

Harry frowned, slightly, as Igor loaded his trunk onto the coach. His construct had already been loaded onto a wagon and sent ahead in preparation. The horses were patiently waiting for the command to be given.

"Igor, are you alright?"

"Ith nothing, thur," Igor demurred.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked. He didn't want his servant in unavoidable pain, unless the man wanted it of course.

"Ith you mutht know... it'th my boy, thur," Igor explained. "An Igor learnth thurgery on hith fatherth knee, but he hathent got the hang oth the thcalpel technique yet, thur."

Harry nodded. "As long as you'll be alright. While I'm away, make sure to keep up with the crystals."

"Yeth, thur, and may I thay that we are amathing quite a bit of threquent thlyer mileth ath well."

"Really?" Harry asked. "In that case, take the family and visit... Disneyworld, perhaps."

"Thank you, thur. Hyah!"

* * *

Harry looked around. "Interesting. In that quaint, Victorian-era in the modern world way. Igor, come along."

"Yeth, Marthter."

Harry watched as his servant carefully loaded the hardened steel and ironwood trunk onto the baggage car. It was encrusted with runes of protection, endurance, security, internal stasis, and many other charms, but Harry still nodded in approval as Igor checked the stout padlocks on it anyway.

A girl tugged on his shirt, and he turned to see a redhead looking at him with awe.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" she asked.

"Yes, Lord Mortis," Harry said absently, ignoring her as she ran back to her mother excitedly. "Igor, I expect weekly reports on the project's status."

"Thir."

"As well as reports on our businesses."

"Yeth thir. I thall ask Mitheth Igor for thome bithcuith ath well, ith you like."

Harry smiled for the first time today. "Excellent. Farewell for now, Igor."

"Yeth, thir."

* * *

Harry looked up from his spiral notebook with a flat look on his face. "Malfoy. I understand your father is a... politician."

"Yes," Draco Malfoy said arrogantly. "He can teach you even better than I could."

Harry rose to his feet. "Under my guidance, the Mortis estate has risen fourfold in value, and I have numerous markers both within Great Britain and overseas that I can call in, both with private industry and with public governance. Your father's fortune has dwindled since he inherited from his suspiciously late father, and he has lost both respect and power politically since his involvement with mass murderers. What do you think you could possibly teach me, other than stupidity?"

Draco's face was a flaming red. "You'll pay for this embarassment, Potter!"

"You'll pay," Harry parroted. "How unimaginative. Get out of my sight."

As the door shot shut, Harry mentally decided that, when the time came, Malfoy would be, perhaps, a kobold or something equally worthless.


	31. Misdirected Souls

Here's a silly thought.

* * *

As the bright mist descended on Harry Potter in his imaginary King's Cross Station, somewhere else another resurrection was taking place.

The two souls rocketing back down from the afterlife hit each other, were discombobulated for a moment, and continued on different courses to their original ones.

* * *

Harry blinked. Something felt... wrong... so wrong. He lifted a hand up to his eyes, and felt his glasses missing. His facial features were also finer than before, and his eyebrows were amazingly long. Exploring further, he found that his ears were now prodigiously huge, so long that they stuck up above his head now.

"Oh, bugger, where am I now?" Harry muttered, then grabbed his new mouth as he realised that he had not said that in English.

* * *

And, somewhere else, a High Elf was adjusting to the fact that somehow, he'd been resurrected by the priest into some short, runty little human body instead of his own graceful, elegant one. Maybe this was what his brother meant by not annoying cooks, janitors, healers, and people who brought you back to life.


	32. More Than A Speaker

Dudley Dursley was a normal boy, but in his opinion he had the absolute weirdest cousin in the history of cousins.

It started with his earliest memory of Harry, where he had hit him on the head with a Transformer, and Harry retaliated by turning into a ten meter long snake, wrapping himself around Dudley and started to squeeze. To this day, Vernon swore up and down that the only way he'd had the strength to rip the snake-Harry off Dudley was through blind, mad panic. The only reason Dudley remembered it was because it was his first near-death experience.

Since then, the Dursleys had done their best to not annoy Harry too much. A logical person would suggest donating snake-Harry to a zoo, but the blasted boy changed back when he felt like it, and Vernon and Petunia had no intention of answering questions about how on God's green earth a small, two or three year old boy could turn into a ten freaking meter long snake (a Reticulated Python, when Vernon showed a photograph to a man at the zoo. Vernon was not happy to learn it was the longest snake in the world.)

A coldhearted logical person would suggest killing the boy. Petunia pointed out that they were better than those magical freaks and their 'exterminators', plus in a moment of weakness they'd taken young Harry shortly after he'd arrived to a doctor, and he was registered as living at their address and was their ward.

So the only thing Vernon could do was take a prybar and a large hammer, crawl into the cupboard under the stairs where Harry liked to stay (due to being the warmest part of the house when he was a coldblooded snake), and breaking the small, flimsy wall between that and the hotwater cylinder.

* * *

When Harry had first arrived, Petunia had found that he'd gone right off his food (most likely due to his parents not being there to feed him, she suspected.) As a result, he'd become very skinny in short order. While Vernon didn't like the idea of wasting too much money on food on the freak, he didn't want him to die. So it was with relief when they found out that, while in snake form, Harry would happily eat anything.

When Vernon looked into what kind of snake Harry was, he found that reticulated pythons ate birds (amongst many other things, including humans, so it seemed a good idea to Vernon to make sure that the giant snake didn't get hungry.) Vernon had wanted a rifle for years, but Petunia had been against the idea. She'd softened to it after Harry arrived.

So Harry now lived on a diet of birds that Vernon had shot down, supplemented with the occasional roadkill cat or dog. They didn't understand how, but the boy could turn back human, even when as a snake he had a few monstrous bulges where a bird or dog was slowly digesting. He was very, very sluggish when this was the case, though. They chalked it up to magic.

* * *

"Uncle Vernon, where are we going?" Harry asked.

Vernon looked back from the driver's seat. "The Guinness Book of World Records, boy. And you're to turn back into that snake thing in the next B road, understand?"

"Yes, uncle," Harry said.

"But why are we going?" Dudley asked petulantly. "I want to see Westminster Palace afterwards."

"Because the type of snake Harry is is only supposed to grow up to eight point six meters, at the longest," Vernon explained, since Dudley had asked. "No idea why, but Harry's just kept growing. No one's ever seen a fifteen meter long regal python before!"

* * *

"But what about his little problem?" Petunia asked.

"What?" Professor McGonagal asked.

"Sometimes he turns into a monstrous snake," Vernon said bluntly.

"Oh, my."

* * *

Harry turned. There was a huge mountain troll, it had a big club, and it looked angry at him.

A short little wizard who only knows half a dozen spells and can't do them very well can't deal with a mountain troll very well. But that's okay, Harry's got another option.

A minute later, the troll dropped it's club, and attempted to pull the serpent off it's chest, where it was being suffocated by the python's coils. It fell to the ground, and eventually stopped moving.

To Hermione's shock and horror, the twenty meter long python began to slowly eat the troll.

* * *

"Most of the time, I promised Uncle Vernon, I wouldn't do this," Harry snarled. "But in your case, I think I'll make an exception."

Quirrelmort turned to see Harry turn into a monstrous python, which launched itself at him. He screamed as the snake easily broke his casting arm with a powerful flex, then he found it hard to scream as he began to suffocate in the snake's coils.

You can guess what the python did with the ninety odd kilograms of meat and bone lying there.

* * *

A/N: So Harry got Parseltongue from Voldemort. Okay. In this, he got Voldemort's animagus ability and was imprinted with a snakey form due to the Parseltongue.

As for the unusually long bit, Harry got the full adult form initially due to getting the ability from a full adult wizard. But he's a growing lad, and the animagus form grows in turn, too...


	33. One Harry

Harry looked down carefully. "It isn't Christmas."

"No, it isn't, but-"

"-all the same," Fred Weasley continued, "we've gotten you a present!"

"... thanks," Harry said, studying the leathery egg the two jokesters had given him. "It doesn't LOOK like a chicken egg."

"That's because it isn't," George said. "Its-"

"-Much better than that," Fred continued.

"Well, thanks," Harry said. True, he treasured every present he got, but bad news like Fred and George got around. "Where did you get it?"

"You'd be surprised at what dragon-"

"-handling older brothers win in bets."

* * *

Harry found himself smiling, oddly, at the brightly coloured neonate snake. It was very, very yellow in colour, with a few blue highlight scales. It was sleeping on top of his four post bed, coiled in an intricate fashion on one of the horizontal bars inside the canopy. He still couldn't figure out how it didn't fall off while asleep.

"That is dead creepy, mate," Ron said.

"But he's mine," Harry argued. "Your own brothers gave him to me."

"Yeah, but they're Fred and George," Seamus pointed out.

"No one'd blame you if you sold it or gave it away," Ron said.

"NO!" Harry yelled. "He's my familiar, along with Hedwig, and I am NOT giving them away! Or selling them!"

* * *

Harry stared into the event horizon of the Veil of Death. Voldemort was dead, all his accounts were settled and the gnomes (he'd transferred all his accounts and business to the gnomes of Ironforge after that business with the goblins) were taking care of things nicely. It was time to find Sirius.

* * *

In a small pirate boat, a mild domestic was taking place.

"I'm tired of eating rat!" Luffy yelled.

Sanji took another puff on his smoke. "That's all there is to cook, the rats ate all our food provisions."

"Don't ships normally have cats to eat rats?" Zoro asked.

"Hey! You can kill the rats for us!" Luffy yelled. Zoro hit him on the head. "Or not."

"Land ho!"

"Good! We're going to buy the best cat we can find! I'm tired of rat-on-a-stick!"

* * *

"What do you mean none are for sale?"

"Just what I said, I've already promised kittens to customers."

"But I need a cat to kill rats on my ship!"

"Tough. Scat."

Luffy was grumpy as he left the shop, but got happy again as a stranger approached him with an offer.

* * *

"Hey guys! I found something to eat rats for us!"

Zoro frowned. "Is this guy gonna hunt them down?"

The short man in the huge black robe shook his head. "No. My familiar is."

He held his arm up, and a vivid, emerald green snake wound it's way out. Everyone noticed how it's scales were the same vividly green shade as the man's eyes.

"We're the only ship to have a ship-snake to catch rats!" Luffy grinned.

"What if it bites us?" Nami asked, looking somewhat worried.

Harry's eyes darkened. "If he bites you, you did something to deserve it. I've told him not to attack people unless they do something to him."

"Harry's going to travel with us looking for his godfather," Luffy further explained.

* * *

A/N The one piece stuff is probably OOC. You should get the general gist, though.


	34. Per Expectations Harry

"Hello, Marge," Vernon boomed happily.

His sister, on the other hand, had her English Bulldog on a very, very short leash, and her piggy eyes darted around fearfully. "The boy... he's not around?"

Vernon shook his head. "He's in his cupboard, and Pet frisked him for contraband first. And we got a promise out of him to behave."

"He... he won't kill my little Gnasher, will he?" Marge whimpered, obviously fearful to step over the threshold.

"No," Vernon said. "My word on it."

In the darkness, not more than five meters away under the stairs, Harry grinned sadistically. Ripper the bulldog had thought that he could attack Harry. Sadly, he never learnt otherwise, because Harry killed and cooked him. Marge had found out when Harry had flung the bloody, still dripping hide over her head.

Dudley was nowhere near the front door, and was in fact not even in the house, and hadn't been for a week. He tended these days to stay with his friends, for as long as possible. He used to pick on Harry, ignoring how Harry tried to fight back. Until, in a burst of insane energy, the black haired psychotic had decked him, and then broken both of Dudley's knees with a heavy metal pipe from the garden shed. Dudley was probably the only eight year old in all of Surrey that needed a walking stick and took daily pain meds.

Dudley's gang had stopped annoying the smaller boy long before Dudley had. This was because Harry had broken Piers Polkiss' back with a heavy hammer, damn near killing the boy.

Vernon and Petunia had tried many, many, many times to get the authorities to take Harry away and put him in some kind of institution. The authorities had, many many times, but somehow Harry ended up back under the stairs, with the doctors not having a clue who he was. The couple were now highly religious and prayed daily for Harry's death, or failing that coma. They were certain that the only reason Harry had let them live was that he was aware that they were the only people who would feed him (or at least leave nonpoisoned food in cupboards he could access.)

The awful part was how Harry knew exactly how to act when Vernon and Petunia tied him up and dragged him in front of a policeman, or any person in a position of power. Harry would immediately act fearful, aided immensely by his thin appearance and scars (gained mostly by completely ignoring mere physical pain in the pursuit of something he wanted.)

Harry also did this act whenever he was in a strange place and wanted something. When he was in the library, the elderly librarian was more than happy to look up any topic for the abused little orphan. When he wanted to go to Greater Whinging, the buslady typically let the poor underfed victim of abuse ride for free.

* * *

In canon, Vernon and Petunia spread the story that Harry was a young hoodlum who went to St Brutus Secure Center. What if Harry truly was psychopathic?


	35. Revenge As Best We Make It

The tall Dark Wizard stared at the skull in his hand.

"You know, Malfoy," he monologued, "I have to hand it to you, it's a pretty good idea, storing a fragment of your soul in your skull."

Seeming to listen, he paused a second.

"Oh, I'm going to do far, far worse than destroy your horcrux. I'm going to send your soul back in time. And then I'm going to come after you, to complete my revenge."

* * *

Arthur sat down, having just got home from work and kissed his wife Molly. "How's young Ronald?"

"Doing fine, aren't you Ron?" Molly asked the baby, adding a lot of infantile noises.

The wards flashed black, then oddly white, indicating a black wizard of the worst order that despite the ward's base design was being let through due to intentional loopholes.

"Molly, take Ron and Percy upstairs," Arthur said, producing his wand while his wife took his two youngest upstairs to join the rest of his children.

He answered the door to find an immensely old man at the door.

"May I come in?" the man wheezed.

"If you must," Arthur said, wand kept trained on him. "Who are you?"

The dark wizard dropped his hood to reveal white hair, and a very distinctive set of facial features. "Your son Ron, from a hundred years in the future."

Arthur kept his wand steady. "Keep talking."

* * *

Molly looked torn between crying and hugging the old man. A Lineage charm, borderline Dark due to blood use, had indicated that the old man was, in fact, Ron Weasley. "It's true?"

Old Ron nodded. "All the mainstays of the Light were killed, or rendered unusably insane. The rest of the Resistance and I had to resort to the darkest of Black Magic just to defeat Voldemort's Followers. Our children and grandchildren... they're near ignorant, as we will not teach them the Black Magics, and little is now known of the Light in our time."

"And you've come back in time to stop this?" Arthur asked.

"That, and to extract revenge," Old Ron said, with an evil smile. "I have to ask you to stay quiet, of course, I just... the last time I saw you and Mum was while Draco Malfoy ripped your guts out and threw them into Muggle traffic."

"We won't say a word," Molly said, giving into her tears. "And you're welcome to stay here as long as you like, it's your home as well."

* * *

Ron stared down into the crib. "Hello, Draco."

The baby stared up at him, dark intelligence shining through.

"I know that that's the Malfoy from my time, reincarnated into a baby's body," Ron continued. "I thought of simply going back and stopping the Soulfire War from happening, but then revenge wouldn't be had. And I couldn't just have revenge on a Draco who didn't know what his suffering was for, so I had to find your Horcrux and send you back first."

The baby with an adult's mind widened his eyes, reaching up with flexing fingers.

"Oh, you can forget trying to stop me," Old Ron the Black said, chortling. He produced a red vial. "I have here a vial of Harry's blood - young Harry's blood. You remember how you killed him?"

Baby Draco nodded.

"It was quite clever," Ron acknowledged. "Using Snape's new Perma-Polyjuice to seduce Harry while female, then while he was sleeping after sex, changing into your serpentine Animagus form to kill, dismember and consume him. Our side only found out how you did it decades later.

"In fact, we're taking a page from that for our revenge on you."

Draco's eyes widened in fear.

Ron produced a blackened length of wood, shiny with slick blood that seemingly would never dry. His fingers stained on contact with it.

"First, the Ritual Of Setting, then a Servitude Bond."

* * *

As for Malfoy the older, Ron had found that the bulk of Lucius' influence had arose due to his appearance of benevolence, and all of that had occured through his wife Narcissa's ceaseless socialising and praising her husband. Effectively, without Narcissa as his PR agent, Lucius was dead in the water.

So rather than kill her, possibly creating a martyr (Ron the Black didn't want to take the chance), he cursed her.

By the time Tiamat Malfoy was eleven, Narcissa Malfoy weighed nearly two thousand pounds. The only thing she'd be charming would be blue whales.

Ron found that just killing the Crouch family (both Senior, Junior, and the dying wife) galvanised the public quite effectively, especially when Old Ron falsified evidence at the site pointing to Severus Snape, who was arrested at Hogwarts mid-lesson and administered the Dementor's Kiss quite promptly. Ron loved killing two birds with one stone.

All he had to do then was steal rat-Pettigrew from his ancestral home, and leave him in a coma designated for a week's duration on the Daily Prophet's doorstep, since they could smell the publicity that this would produce.

* * *

Harry Potter, age eleven, had gotten his invitation to Hogwards. His Godfather Sirius had met up with Molly Weasley, and they had gotten their wards onto the train safely. (Arthur had asked Sirius to help Molly corral the two Twins as a favour to him and Molly.)

Then a human octopus had curled around him, declared him his Master, and as soon as the two of them were out of sight in a private compartment, had pulled down his pants and underwear and... done things.

Er.

Yes.

After stopping the platinum blonde girl, he proceeded to get a few answers out of her.

"I'm Tiamat Malfoy, and I am your obediant bondslave."

Harry blinked. And then blinked again.

Then was promptly distracted from confusion by Tiamat's actions.

"Hey! Get away from my meat and two veg!"

"My only desire is to make you happy, and I've heard that this is the most pleasurable thing a female can do for a male!"


	36. A Ripping Bad Aftermath

Summary: Aftermath of a school outing. Followup to "A Ripping Good Time", which I posted a few months ago on this group. I'll repost if enough ask and Rorsch okays it.

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this.

Pre-fic comments:

I'm still not entirely comfortable with aspects of this.

* * *

Harry stared out the window into the driving rain, but his mind was far, far away from Scotland. He stretched, the heat in the room making him feel tired and wanting a nice cold pond to sit in or something, but Hermione needed it. The magi-vets were not sure whether or not the now python-from-the-waist-down witch was coldblooded or not, but Dumbledore had decided that keeping her warm was best until they found out for sure. Especially since the zoo-keeper had determined that she was now with child.

After the events at Lady Schecter's zoo, where all of Harry's class had been driven insane with Black Dragon pheremones and hormones, and had become physically crossbred with magical and mundane animals, Dumbledore had extended the offer of letting the affected students board at Hogwarts. Those who lived with parents in magical areas (most notably including Draco Malfoy, who had become a female centaur) had been picked up at Hogwarts after a few days.

But all of this wasn't what troubled Harry. He turned from the window and laid himself down on a bed next to his new partner. That was what troubled Harry. In his case, the Australian Black Dragon bodychemistry had turned him into a half-human, half-tiger man, and had turned the zoo's two female tigers half-tiger, half-human. One of them, as a result of the fierce lust induced by the Event, now carried his... child? Cub? Kitten? Harry had no idea what word to use. The other tiger-woman was more independant (and not pregnant), but still stayed close.

He settled down to sleep, the two sleeping tiger-women absently shifting slightly to accommodate him.

* * *

The gossip of Hogwarts (and, by extension, magazines like Witch weekly and Teen Witch Weekly) was how the centaur mare Draco Malfoy (TWW speculated on Draco's name, suggesting feminine versions in list form with a write-in poll) had somehow transmitted her condition to several Slytherin students in the year above hers, resulting in four new centaur stallions. After a massive fight, two of the new stallions' girlfriends (from when the boys were human) were seen to be buying elasticity potions.

The other major gossip was just which one of those four (or, perhaps, the male centaur stallion from the Event) was sire to Draco's very obviously developing foal. And also as to whether the two additional new centaur mares would also become expecting.

* * *

That particular chain of events, along with the findings of the magi-vets, revealed that somehow, the condition of the affected students was transmitted sexually, for lack of better words. When a still-in-heat six-and-a-half-foot-tall Cheetah-woman Tracey Davis pinned down a terrified (and VERY turned on) Muggle teenage boy, it was revealed that the magical level of the affected partner also played a part, since the Muggle teenage boy was now a Magical seven-foot-tall cheetah-human man.

The last anyone heard, Tracey was happy, and the now much taller male was deliriously happy with his extremely 'stacked' cheetah girlfriend.

But the biggest blowup of all was at the Wizengamot.

* * *

Rita checked that her Quick Quotes Quill, her Dictation Quill, and her muggle tape recorder were all set to go. She was in the public viewing stand for the Wizengamot (along with several affected parents) and was not going to miss this particular session for love or money. Dumbledore had tipped her off to the fact that Fudge was going to try and screw over the victims from the Schecter Zoo event, and this kind of material would keep her on the front page for months.

She might even be /nice/ to Dumbledore the next time she wrote about him.

* * *

"... and so, since they are no longer human, they no longer qualify for Ministry support, of any sort," Undersecretary Umbridge simpered.

"Of course," Fudge blustered, "this means that several offices will be unable to serve these new halfbreeds, as detailed in the paperwork we've distributed. All those in favour of passing this Bill that merely formalises existing procedure?"

"Not! So! Fast!" Lady Longbottom shot out. She had a pair of tiny spectacles on as she studied the prospective Bill. "No inheritances?"

"They are only animals," Fudge said.

"I'm highly disappointed in you," Dumbledore said mournfully, hamming up the Grandfatherly act. "Trying to steal an orphan's heritage from him, trying to divert family fortunes dating back millenia, all to your own pockets."

Fudge blinked. They'd all voted in favour of those Werewolf, Vampire, and Goblin laws that had stripped those creatures of the same rights.

* * *

One of the female zookeepers was nowhere near as happy about the whole affair. She'd been working at Schecter's as a student vet, and had been mixing up medicine for a sick dragon when the whole thing had gone down.

She was now nine feet tall, was clad in silver scales, and had massive great wings. She was also utterly convinced that she was now twisted, ugly, and awful to behold. The only way she'd get married now, she was sure, would be if her father arranged it and paid the groom a great deal of money (and whisky) indeed.

Her supervisor had heard that Charlie Weasley, one of her personal heroes, was in Britain to help his younger brother Ron, and had sent the man an urgent message. Suicide, he feared, could be down the track if not fended off.

Upon first sight of the draconic female Charlie was struck dumb, then started chatting her up. They were dating within days, and a few weeks later they were engaged, and a month or two after that she was expecting, with the now also-draconic Charlie as the father, or sire.

Molly Weasley wasn't sure what to think of this whole business. On the one hand, she'd have grandchildren to spoil and love. On the other hand, she'd never expected them to have to hatch first. Molly had broken out the knitting needles then stopped dead in her tracks. Her first thought was to make baby booties to keep the bubby's feet warm, and woolly baby bonnets to keep bubby's head warm, but with the claws on her daughter-in-law's feet, she wasn't sure that bubby wouldn't rip up the booties, and that the bonnets would even fit. She compensated by knitting a lot of blankets for her grandchildren.


	37. Annoying The Wrong Entity

What brought this on? Thinking about Epiphone bass guitars.

* * *

Voldemort looked up from the thronelike chair where he held court in the Riddle House. There was an almost palpable sense of power in the air. "What is that?"

A recent American recruit ran out the door to investigate. He'd only come at his tribe's bidding, to see what Voldemort offered, and what he in turn demanded as payment. If Voldemort could attract their services, they would be powerful against Dumbledore and his cronies.

"I-I don't know, Master," Pettigrew simpered.

Though tempted to throw some Cruciatus curses at the rat, Voldemort held his fire. Pettigrew acted near-brain-damaged at times already.

The American recruit came back in, face pale. "You've angered nature, Lord Voldemort. My people and I will not work with you."

With a pop, the tanned native American left.

Riddle stormed out the door to see what Dumbledore had cooked up to try and slow him down. He knew it was not the Ministry. He also knew that it would likely not be lethal, given how his old teacher thought.

"Sweet mother of God," one death eater blasphemed when they got out the door.

The sky was black with heavy cloud, lightning arcing inside it. In the near distance, thick bolts struck the ground repeatedly. A harsh keening screeched from the sky, and the most massive bird any of them had ever seen dropped through the cloud cover, larger than even the New Zealand Haast's Eagle a hundredfold.

"A thunderbird?" Voldemort roared.

Though insane, he was also not stupid. "To the basement! NOW!"

A few of the stupider Death Eaters tried to apparate out. The energy in the air disrupted their magic, and they merely reappeared in place, moaning and clutching at stumps where limbs had splinched to where they had wanted to go. The smell of cooking meat rose from what a muggle physician would have recognised as electrical burns.

The enraged force of nature struck repeatedly at the Riddle House with talons, beak, but predominantly through lightning strike. In the end, after it left, Voldemort had to dig himself out of the rubble on top of his basement, and half of the Death Eaters with him had to bury the other half. Even so, massive burns and punctures from the electrical damage littered them profusely.

To add insult to injury, Dumbledore was later approached by the very tribe that Voldemort had been courting.


	38. Swapping Stories

Rereading The Hobbit at work, and had an insane thought when I got to Tolkien's painting of Smaug. The dialog is going to be off, I'm working from memory and this is just a quick sketch, as it were. If you haven't read The Hobbit, this is just going to horribly confuse you. This is nowhere near close to canon, I haven't fact checked names I've just used what seems good when my fingers hit the keys.

* * *

Bifur and Bombur scrambled up to get to the secret door, a couple of other dwarves helping. They stumbled over... a Man?

"What's a human doing here?" Bombur cried. "So far from Laketown!"

"I don't think he's from there," Fili said. He and Kili had been sent to help get the other two. "We'd better bring him along, it won't do for the dragon to kill and eat him."

Once the company was hidden in the back entrance to the Lonely Mountain, they examined the strange Man. He was dressed in robes, much like Gandalf's own, but in black. He didn't have a hat, or a staff, which seemed odd to them. Thorin woke him up carefully, a few of the others hiding weapons behind their backs just in case.

"Wha... where am I?" the Man groaned in the common tongue.

"You're inside the Lonely Mountain, near Dale," Thorin answered. "Thorin Oakenshield, at your service. And might I ask who you are?"

"Harry, Harry Potter," the Man answered back. He rubbed his eyes, squinting slightly at the dwarf as he produced a pair of spectacles such as a clerk might use. "Oh! And at your service too, I suppose. I guess you want to know why I'm here."

"Please," Bilbo said, keenly curious.

Harry blinked at the sight of someone even smaller than the dwarves before answering. "I'm... well, I was, now, a famous wizard in my homeland. I wanted to leave and find adventure, and a friend who acts more than he thinks gave a strange stone to me made of deep green jade, but it caught fire, and sent me here, somehow."

"You're neck deep in adventure now," Thorin said. "We're currently trying to think of a way to defeat the dragon Smaug, a wicked worm."

"Well, I've faced dragons before, I could have a go," Harry offered. Seeing them become suspicious, and remembering lessons in History of Magic, he added, "for a share of the reward, I mean."

"Remember that it's a dragon down there," Bilbo said. "If it looks like he's going to move, you need to run immediately. I think I got him quite angry when I stole a cup from him earlier."

"Oh, I have my ways," Harry said. "Anyone want to come with me?"

* * *

Before they left the small tunnel to enter the dragon's sleeping chamber, Harry stopped to brief Bilbo and Thorin (who were the only ones who came with Harry.)

"Alright, I'm going to try and defeat him mentally," Harry explained. "In his mind, I mean. Anything could happen, anything at all. I could catch fire, he could shatter, anything's possible when you're Legilimencing a completely different species with strong magic of it's own. So if things go really bad, you're to grab my body, run back, and wait for me to wake up."

That said, Harry drew his wand, strode up to the dragon's face and confidently shouted "Legilimens!" as a great eye started to crack itself.

* * *

Thorin and Bilbo watched anxiously. So far, the strange Wizard was holding a staring match with the wyrm, from what the two of them could tell. Sweat poured down Harry Potter's face, but it was as if a statue was being rained on. The dragon was similarly motionless.

With a great flash of light and crash, the two combatants collapsed, Smaug onto his hoard and Harry on his face in front of the dragon. Being a decent sort and a dwarf of his word, Thorin picked the Man up (for dwarves can carry a massive load indeed if the need arises) and ran with Bilbo for the back entrance tunnel.

* * *

When the man opened his eyes, it was clear that "Harry Potter" was not in residence.

"Who dares to steal from my hoard and attack me, Smaug?" the Man roared.

Gloin gave the Man a smart hit on the head, knocking him out. "You don't suppose?"

Bilbo sighed, pulling out his magic ring he'd taken from Gollum earlier. "I could go look."

"You're the burglar, it's your job," Bombur said.

Running down the tunnel as quietly as he could (which was completely silent to people like you and me), Bilbo saw a very confused dragon indeed.

"Bilbo?" the dragon called out in a deep voice. "Thorin? Er, this is Harry Potter in here, I think something has gone very, very wrong indeed..."

* * *

"What a horrid thing to happen!" Bilbo cried.

"It could have been worse," Harry said, a glint in his dragonish eye.

"What could have been worse?" Thorin asked.

"Smaug could have been a toad as big as a house that attacked, or maybe a giant dog, imagine being stuck in a body like that and not a very imperial looking dragon."


	39. The Old Dark Magic

Disclaimer: The power of alcohol compells me!

* * *

"I wish... yeah, for even greater diversity than what exists already! Give all those neo-Aryans something to really moan about!"

"Wish Granted."

* * *

Harry groaned as he woke up. He'd never gotten drunk in his life, but from how he'd seen Uncle Vernon on Sunday mornings (getting to church was always a bit of a mission for the man), this felt like a hangover or something. The sunlight roared through the thin slits of Harry's eyelids to stab a staccato symphony on his nerve cells at the back of his eyes.

He rolled over to try and get back to sleep, only to clutch his ears when birds tweeted outside his window. Why were they so freaking damn loud today? The worst he'd had last night was finishing off the last of his chocolate frogs with Seamus and Ron!

Hold on...

His ears felt weird. Harry's right hand stroked along the tip of his left ear in an exploratory fashion. Harry shivered at the feeling as his finger, rather than curving in the usual Homo Sapiens Sapiens fashion, continued straight up to a point.

Harry sat straight up in bed, eyes opening wide out of shock. He wished he hadn't, as the cracks of light from around the curtains stabbed his brain again. Squinting, he gasped. His hands... his skin was black! No, deeper than even the black people he'd seen in Surrey. Obsidian, even. He grabbed his hair, pulling it into sight. White! Pure white!

Whirling in his sheets, looking desperately for a mirror to confirm all this and to possibly see what on earth Fred and George had done now, he paused. Ron, Seamus, Neville, and Dean were all changed, just like him, obsidian skin, white hair, long pointy ears.

Well, at least he wouldn't be the only one getting pointed and laughed at.

* * *

Harry had gone down to breakfast in the Great Hall with his hat on (for once), his cloak (with the collar pulled up high), and little scraps of cloth tucked in his ears to dullen the deafening roar that the world now was. Hermione had thankfully transfigured his glasses into sunglasses for him (one thing to be thankful for in all this mess - his vision was now perfection itself. The bathroom mirror had shown him that his eyes were now a vivid purple, rather than the beautiful green they were before. Most other people's eyes were now amber.)

Once down there, he took his hat off and lowered the collar on his cloak. Everyone else had been similarly changed. The only people who didn't look... well, like obsidian-skinned high fantasy elves with light phobias were Hagrid and Flitwick. Hagrid was even more giant-ish than before (Harry thought that his friend had gained perhaps another foot in height), and Flitwick looked incredibly goblin-esque, now. As for the students, nearly all of the more obviously Asian students looked like humanoid foxes. Cho Chang was a very beautiful vixen with two bushy tails, now.

"sonorus Excuse me! I must announce that the changes you have discovered this morning have so far no cure, and that the rest of the Wizarding World is similarly afflicted," Headmaster Dumbledore roared. "Today's classes are therefore temporarily on hold. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick will be teaching charms that are useful in these... forms today in the Great Hall, all day. Mister and Mister Weasley, please see me in my office. Quietus!"

* * *

While the two Professors did indeed teach some charms and transfigurations during the day (non-permanent hearing loss and blindness hexes while people became accustomed to the heightened senses), Dumbledore announced that most classes were being reassigned to take place during the night in a special trial to be assessed by the Board of Governors. All the students of European extraction sighed in relief - they all had horrid headaches by now from the sun.

A few days later, the Daily Prophet came out. As Harry had observed, all the wizards and witches were now darkskinned elves - the Prophet claimed that they were identical to what the Muggles called "Drow" elves. That is, all the Western ones were. Oriental mages were now nearly exclusively fox-human hybrids, that the Prophet informed Harry were properly called "kitsune". He didn't know what other countries were, now, since the Prophet hadn't said.

A great deal of the British muggles had become what could only be Tolkien's dwarves, with most of the remainder becoming hobbits (chiefly in the countryside.) A small percentage became what were apparently light-skinned wood-elves (in something of a sop to the wizards' esteem as a group, only they became the darkskinned elves. No reports had come in yet of muggle "Drow", yet.)

He'd gotten a particularly nasty letter from the Dursleys, also.

* * *

Boy,

The papers say that this... change can't be undone. Well, you're to turn up, NOW, and fix this. Immediately. Your poor Aunt has become some kind of black-skin Elf, and Dudley and I have become something that the shopkeeper at the grocer called "orcs" or "orks". We don't know, we just know that you're to come here, and fix it. It's bad enough that we've spent years of effort and our own money on trying to cure you of your unnaturalness, but if you insist on this stupidity then you're to use it in the betterment of your betters.

Vernon Dursley.

* * *

A/N

I'm not sure what the other major ethnic groups would be for the Wizards. For Native American I'm leaning towards coyote-human hybrids, with jaguar-human for the South Americas. I'm leaning towards trickster entities, obviously. Previously-Muggleborn people would stick out like a dog's ****s now, being drow born to hobbits, or kitsune born to orcs, or whatever.

Why drow for the European mages? Think about it. Their powerful rulers hide deep underground in massive complexes (the Ministry for one), with parties venturing out from their enclaves to torture those not of their own kind.

As for human... I think that North America, and ONLY North America, would still have any humans. Just to bugger them up, only the non-white parts. The white North Americans would all change to some kind of D&D humanoid sentient species, be it dwarf, hobbit, wood elf, orc or whatever.

I couldn't resist making Dudley and Vernon orcs.


	40. Two Point Five Plus

Harry scrubbed his face wearily.

"What are you going to do now, Harry?" Ron asked idly. "Now that Voldemort is dead, I mean."

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I think... Ron, I just want to find out what I want."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been ordered around by authority figures, and racing to just keep up with events that I have no idea what I like," Harry admitted, "beyond playing Quidditch. Does that make any sense?"

Ron paused thoughtfully. If the Twins had been there, they'd have taken a photograph and teased him about framing it. "I think so. Whatever you want, mate, I support you all the way."

Harry laughed suddenly. "When I was seven, mate, I wanted to pilot a F-15."

"A what?" Ron asked, puzzled.

"A muggle fighter jet," Harry explained. He realised that his pureblood friend was probably still none the wiser. "Er, a Muggle aeroplane that can go... er... twice as fast as sound travels through the air."

Ron stood up. "Well, it's not going to happen sitting here. C'mon in, I think Mum has rhubarb and custard going.

* * *

In retrospect, if Harry had known just how much work he'd had to put in just to catch up with his Muggle counterparts, he'd probably have thrown his hands up and gotten a place in a professional Quidditch team.

He'd had to study for a long time to get his O-levels and apply to the airforce. After quite a bit of contemplation, he applied to the American airforce, since even studying for O-levels was apparently earthshaking news to the Wizarding press in Britain. It had gotten to the ridiculous stage of him leaving a toilet cubicle in Muggle London, only to find a Prophet photographer flashing him when he opened it.

He was now an American citizen, as well as British. He suspected that the Ministry of Magic had hurried it through, but didn't have the energy to pursue that line of enquiry.

To his sorrow, he found that his poor eyesight meant that he'd never be a pilot. Not combat, anyway. He did qualify to apply to be work in aircraft maintenance, and went for it. Harry got to have a blat in one of the smaller jets that the airforce used in training, and decided that even his Firebolt didn't hold a candle to even that.

* * *

Harry glared out of the hangar. Something... something was coming. He hadn't lifted a wand in years, but something was tickling the back of his mind, something was coming.

Something landed next to him, almost on top of the F-22 Raptor that had just been repaired. He turned to see... a massive robot, head scraping the ceiling, scanning the jet, somehow.

Harry gasped, reaching out absently, fingers feeling the slick metal... moving... into the metal?

His scream began to digitize as the rest of his body was sucked into the metal.

* * *

As Starscream approached Mission City, about to take out the fleshling's jets to prevent them from providing aircover against Megatron and the Decepticons, he felt something go wrong with his systems. His weapons wouldn't fire, and his navigation kept trying to angle towards the Autobots, rather than to destroying their allies.

Of course, mid-air isn't the best of places for even Cybertronian jets to stop concentrating on flying and conduct mental battles.

The F22 Raptor crashed horribly, halfway in transformation between bipedal robot and fighter jet. It's optics flickered between green and red.

* * *

A/N: For the scream, imagine the one in Nine Inch Nail's "The Downward Spiral (The Bottom - Coil remix)" from Further Down The Spiral.

This drabble sucks ass. But I'm just trying to toy with working out a semi non-retarded HP/TF crossover. The pseudo-tech in this is that since magic interferes with electronics, that means that wizards that make magic have a lot of electrical energy in them or something, that and magic doing funky stuff handwaves into this shortfic.


	41. Harry Potter and the Three Fates

Petunia opened the door to find a Greek man waiting politely. "Yes?"

The man tipped his cap. "Hermes Courier Service, ma'am. Delivery for one H. Potter. Sign here, please?"

Harry stared as the man winked at him, while Aunt Petunia scrawled a quick signature down. He was even more amazed when she turned around, shoved the big parcel at him, and said, "Into your cupboard with it, boy, before we decide to take it off you."

* * *

Harry blinked. A basket? Who would send him a basket? What was in it?

"Kindly let me out," a voice said, quite grumpily.

Harry untied the twine with shaking fingers, and lifted the lid off. A big snake lifted it's head out to look Harry in the eye.

"W-what?" Harry asked shakily.

"Yes, yes, I'm a serpent," the snake snarked. "Panic, panic, panic. Get over it already."

"Y-you can talk!" Harry yelled. He then panicked, then realised in relief that Aunt Petunia had gone out with Dudley to get icecream.

The snake shook it's head. "Are we done? Yes? Good."

Harry just stared. It's not every day that a five year old gets a talking snake in the mail.

"Now, I've been sent by the three Moirae to keep an eye on you," the snake continued. "You've done your part, but a certain idiot is convinced that you still have work to do."

"Me? Done my part?" Harry asked, mystified.

"Long story short, you defeated an evil wizard at fifteen months old," the snake said. "Any child of mine would have killed a dozen times over by then, but you humans can be slow developers."

"Evil wizard?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Tom Riddle," the snake sighed. It looked to be getting sick of talking. Which was fair enough, Harry supposed. Snakes didn't talk normally, so it must be very tiring. "You broke his Fleshbound Soul Ritual by doing so, and now it's the job of said moron to finish the job. Atropos is getting quite annoyed - the old fool is supposed to have destroyed the last piece last Christmas."

"Wow," Harry breathed. "What's your name?"

"My name? Silent Fate. I'm here to act as your bodyguard, and also as an informant to the Moirae."

* * *

"Mum! Dad! Harry's got a pet snake!" Dudley shouted.

Vernon looked up from his paper. "So? It's just a little grass snake, Dudley, nothing like as good as that puppy we're going to buy you."

Harry looked at Silent Fate. The snake was more than twice as long as Uncle Vernon was tall, and was a pale beige-yellow, with big black triangles marching down it's spine. It looked like a grass snake the same way that a Bengal Tiger looked like Mr Tufty at Mrs Figgs.

Dudley settled down at this. "Haha, Potter," he jeered, "I'm going to get a big Doberman, while you've got a tiny little snake that eats frogs!"

Harry's brow wrinkled at this, since Silent Fate was a damn sight bigger than this, but Silent Fate shook his head at Harry, indicating to keep mum.

* * *

"Happy tenth birthday, Harry," Silent Fate said. There wasn't a single house in a ten street radius that had a single rat, mouse, or rabbit in it by now.

Harry smiled wanly. "Thanks, Fate."

He looked up as the cupboard door opened - at midnight. Even more peculiar, it wasn't Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia. It was the same Greek man who had delivered Silent Fate to him.

"Come on, Harry," the man said. "Enough's enough. That old idiot isn't going to learn, and we're all sick of how you're being treated."

"You mean I'm going to have a real home?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Harry," the man smiled. "Come on, I'm taking you to camp."

"Camp, sir?"

"Yes, Camp Halfblood, in America."

* * *

"What's he doing here?" Mr D asked belligerently. Harry didn't like him. "His parents were both mortals."

The messenger man narrowed his eyes at Mr D. The fat man shifted nervously. "He's being sponsored."

"Who by?"

"Clothos, Lachesis, and Atropos. If you've got a problem with it, take it up with them."

* * *

A/N: Percy Jackson cross. I'm not sure where the PJ timeline'd be. Harry is NOT a half-blood, but the three Fates have their eye on him, since Harry's job was fulfilling that prophesy, which was done in it's entirety on Halloween '81 in this verse, and Dumbledore seems set on extending Harry's job beyond '81. They got personally involved when Riddle tried to circumvent his fate as a mortal, which they took a bit personally. Harry stayed at the Dursleys partly through a hope that they would become decent persons. When that failed to happen, Harry was moved - it had to be done before Dumbledore started putting his hooks into the boy.

Harry's bodyguard is a bushmaster. Scientific name? Lachesis Muta, or Silent Fate.


	42. Another Lonely Anniversary

You lift your head, tongue flicking out to taste the air. You taste the same things on the air that you always do, but for some reason you expect something different. You look around your sight is far better than that of muggle species, but you still rely on tasting the air before your eyesight, just like your muggle lessers. It shames you to admit this, but you're still just as deaf as them. The first sound you ever heard clearly was Salazar's voice. The only heat in the room comes from the warming pad that Salazar tied into the ward structure for you you'd be permanently hibernating otherwise, given that he settled in Scotland.

Your head lowers to rest on the ground, unblinking eyes watching the Door.

Salazar, as you remember him, always visited on this day. He'd bring his son and two daughters to visit as well, claiming that no one deserved to be alone on this day (although his lady wife always begged off.) The festival they celebrated held no particular hold on your heart, other than the fact that they always came.

You've waited many hundreds of years. Intellectually you know that he has died, and none of his line has visited you since, but you don't care. It's Christmas Day, and Salazar always came on Christmas Day.

True, you were born of an pythons egg hatched by a cockerel, but even monsters can miss their loved Master.

Minute vibrations echo through your jaw, lying on the ground. Every sense goes alert, and your tongue flicks eagerly. Someone is coming, after nine hundred years! Someone has come on the Day that He always came on! The vibrations go crazy as the Door unlatches, and you begin to taste air wafting from the visitor. Yes! One of His descendants! You've missed that familiar taste on the air.

"Greetings, Lord Slyth," you begin to hiss eagerly, before being interrupted.

"Imperio," the sixteen year old male said flatly.


	43. Harry Potter and the Man of Clay

"What's that noise?" Petunia asked, looking up from the kitchen. It had been a week since that... that brat of her sister's had been offloaded onto her once quiet little house.

Vernon looked up from where he had been reading the paper. "Odd noise, rhythmic, too."

The thumpthumpthumpthumpTHUMP stopped, followed by a RAPRAPRAP on their shiny front door. Vernon stormed to it, pulling it open sharply, violent diatribe loaded and ready to unleash on-

ack.

ack.

Petunia ran to him, slapping him sharply on the back since it sounded like he was choking on something.

"What in the love of God are you?" he gasped. "Get in the house, before someone sees you!"

The massive clay statue nodded, and walked into the hallway. Vernon slammed the door, and Petunia couldn't help but notice the way that the thing's two burning eyesockets steadily regarded the cupboard under the stairs.

"Why're you here?" Vernon demanded.

The clay man turned, and wrote steadily on a slate that hung around it's neck. "SERVANT OF POTTER. GOLEM MUST HAVE A MASTER."

"If he's your problem, then you can look after him," Petunia spat nastily.

* * *

Vernon was getting increasingly annoyed with the Boy. He raised his hand, preparing to bring it down in a sharp snap that would hurt like hell. His hand refused to come down, trapped in a grip that didn't bruise, but would not give at all. He turned to see the thing staring at him.

"Er... my mistake?" Vernon grinned nervously.

The thing regarded him with that unchanging expression, burning eyesockets not wavering.

"I'll... go and see how Dudley's doing with his letters, then," Vernon said, edging towards the door. Upon reaching it, he darted for Dudley's bedroom.

* * *

"TROLL! In the dungeons! Thought you'd want to know." Faint.

"Lofh, can you make sure it doesn't hurt anyone?"

Nod. Thump thump thump thump. The staff waited edgily. Dumbledore waited in the knowledge he could seal the Great Hall in two seconds if he wanted, and all the staff and students were in it (the elves being able to pop away and Trelawney in her tower, far away from the dungeons.)

Two minutes later, THUMP.

Thump thump thump thump.

The golem came back in the Great Hall with a troll that was decidedly unconscious. The golem might not have been as tall, but anything it hit stayed very, very hit.

"Well done, fifty points to Gryffindor. I'll call the Ministry to take care of this for us."


	44. Count The Ways

Harry looked at the head table. "Who's that young-looking teacher, next to Professor Quirrel?"

Fred looked over. "Oh, that's Snape. Count Snape, mind you, especially in class. You don't want to cross him."

* * *

Harry had heard a dozen rumours from the Feast through to his first Potions lesson. Snape was a real Count, and had lands in Europe. No, he was a vampire, and Headmaster Dumbledore only sheltered him because he was amazing with potions. No, he was a serial killer, hiding from justice.

But nothing held a candle to the reality.

"Thought you wouldn't bother to crack a book, eh Potter? Ten points from Gryffindor! Malfoy! What is that intellectually devoid smirk in aid of? Five points from Slytherin! Well? Get your cauldrons out!"

* * *

In this 'verse, Snape really is a vampire, and possessed of a title and lands from European nobility in some minor country. He only teaches in this 'verse as a favour to Dumbledore, who voluntarily took a vampiric student into Hogwarts (and no, this is NOT a Twilight crossover. Snape was turned by a Tzimisce (White Wolf V:tM) early in his seventh year.) He did some huge service for said nobility (what is up to the author) and thus doesn't need to curry favour with the children in Slytherin in the hope that their parents will not notice anything.

Still not a nice person, but secure enough in a position of power to not need to bow to Lucius Malfoy and his ilk.

At least, not until Voldemort is reincarnated. Or will he be?

* * *

Harry wasn't sure he liked Professor Snape. But then, Snape democratically disliked everyone in class. Both Slytherin, and Gryffindor. As such, he was the most neutral party Harry knew of in Hogwarts, and also the most closemouthed. Harry didn't know of a better confidant, since the only person Harry knew of that Snape confided things to was Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Professor?" Harry asked hesitantly, staying after class. Hermione and Ron were out of sight, outside the door, but within earshot.

"Yes, Potter?" Snape asked in a wearisome tone.

"I-I-I've been hearing things, Professor," Harry said, stuttering slightly in his nervousness. Snape could provoke responses in him that Vernon Dursley could only dream of. "I... I don't know, but they sound like hissing, sir."

"Hissing, Potter?" Snape asked, looking up from the papers he was marking.

"Er, yes," Harry said. He paused a moment. "Promise not to tell anyone?"

"Go on, Potter," Snape said in a longsuffering tone of voice. Harry didn't take it personally - he'd heard Snape use the exact same tone of voice on Malfoy last week.

"It sounds kind of like how the boa constrictor from the zoo sounded when I was ten, sir," Harry whispered, trying to be quiet enough that Ron and Hermione couldn't hear this confession."


	45. Cure for a Curse HPRanma

A/N: I have no idea where this came from. I"m not continuing it, so anyone who wants it can have it.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Harry said, getting up from where he'd slammed into someone by going around a corner at what had to be a dead run.

"Really, Harry, you need to be more careful," Hermione chastised him. "I'm very sorry si-er, ma'am."

"No harm done," the young, almost teenaged asian woman with silver hair and blue bands growled out.

Her two bodyguards stared at Hermione. "Wow, Herb, this female has the biggest boobs we've seen yet! Can I touch them?"

"NO!" Hermione and the asian woman yelled.

Harry blinked as the woman stared at him fixedly. What had her bodyguard called her? 'Herb'?

"Boy, why do you have so much death, centered... here?" Herb asked, one delicate finger reaching out to touch his scar.

"Ah, Lord Herb," Dumbledore called out, moments before she made contact with Harry. "I see you've met Harry, Ron, and Hermione."

"His scar is unsettling," Herb said.

"Quite," Dumbledore said vaguely. "Come, come, we still have to try and fix your little problem."

"What's wrong?" Ron asked, rather rudely. "I can't see anything wrong with her body."

The woman glared at Ron. "I am MALE. This is a CURSE."

* * *

"What do you mean, you don't know!" Herb roared.

Completely unruffled, Dumbledore started to suck on a lemon drop. "Just that. I'm just short of being able to remove it - the mystical locking ladle seems to have put a curse of Permanence on that you have to negate first. If you do that, you have my word that I will cure you."

"I'm going to find the Kettle of Opening, then I'll be back," Herb promised.

* * *

Harry mentally cursed Dumbledore for making him watch Snape, of all people, kill him.

The last thing he expected was for a wolf-like man to race up the stairs and deck Snape and Draco in two economical moves. Herb followed behind him, her tigerlike bodyguard bringing up the rear.

"You're not allowed to die, Dumbledore, not until you've cured me," she purred.

"I'm afraid that's going to be academic, Lord Herb, since the curse from Gaunt's Ring is going to do me in, as they say," Dumbledore said sadly.

She smiled archly. Bringing out a ladle from a pocket, she emptied a flask of water into it then flicked it over Dumbledore. He shrank into a beautiful female, young, and noticeably healthy.

"You now have time. This body has no curse, other than the permanent Jusenkyo curse. If you cure my own unlocked curse like you promised you would, I'll unlock your own curse."

The young girl who had once been a hundred and sixteen years old brightened up. "When I do, is there any chance that the Musk Dynasty could help us with a little Dark Lord problem?"


	46. Harry's Father

Lily looked around. The family was visiting her father's nana, who insisted that they all call her Nanny. Mother wasn't too keen on visiting, for some odd reason, and she had been tidying up Nanny's house for her since they'd arrived.

Lily was looking around the forest behind Nanny's cottage (which was full to the brim with the newest gadgetry to make life easier, all bought for by her doting children and grandchildren. Lily had brought Nanny a new cushion with 'WORLD'S GRAETEST NAN' on it - she'd done it herself, and only noticed the spelling mistake after she'd finished.)

She shrieked as she heard a noise behind her, wand coming out and raw magic shooting out from reflex - the Death Eaters had ambushed the Hogwarts Express on the way back to London, and she was still a bit keyed up.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Lily apologised. The man might seem a bit odd, and be missing an eye, but that was no reason to be rude.

The man gave her an insouciant grin. "That'ss okay, pretty lady."

Lily blinked. Was it getting hot, or was it her? She could suddenly understand why the man was very nearly naked, and started to undo her shirt as well. After a moment, she didn't care a fig for embarassment.

* * *

Yes, Lily has an encounter with Greebo in human form, after she locks him accidentally and unknowingly for a few hours. Greebo's sexual magnetism is one of the things mentioned in Maskerade, with only Nanny and Granny unaffected.

The mind boggles at what this Harry would be like. Dudley would have a damn sight more bruises and cuts than in canon, I'm sure.


	47. Heir of an Old Man

The servant sighed as he read through a report. His superior would not be happy with this turn of events, and yet be pleased at the same time. Rising to his feet, he picked up the report along with the usual daily updates, and walked through to his employer's office.

"Mr Evans, I'm afraid to say that there has been activity of a personal nature to you by the Dursley family," he reported, placing the pile on his employer's desk.

"What manner of activity, Vaughan?" Evans asked. "Evie, tea, please. Vaughan?"

Vaughan pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "Nothing for me, thanks. Dudley, son of Petunia and Vernon Dursley, has started primary schooling. But what is most interesting is that a ward of theirs has also begun schooling one Harry Potter, son of James Potter and Lily Potter nee Evans."

The old man leaned forward, wrapping his withered right hand around the warm teacup. "Reports indicated that the lad was murdered by that terrorist, Riddle."

"It would seem not. I suspect falsification of paperwork," Vaughan said, appearing annoyed at the fact that someone had had the gall to falsify documentation. "As always, we have been prevented by high levels of government security from investigating further into Riddle's terrorist cell to find out if they were involved with the matter after the Potter massacre."

Evans snorted, and took a sip from his cup of Keemun tea with milk. "I suspect that MI-5 would not have told us who my granddaughter had been murdered by, if they had had their way."

"Quite," Vaughan said. "Dursley has not taken young Mr Potter to any health services, child protection services, or indeed child care services of any sort. This is in sharp contrast to his natural son, Dudley, whose mother seems to have taken him to the A&E for so much as papercuts. As a result, primary school is the first time Potter has appeared in the official system at all. We have been unable to ascertain so far how Potter came to be in their care. My own suspicion is some manner of under the table deal by a family friend of the older Potters with little to no scruples."

Evans sipped his tea quietly as he reviewed everything he knew of the Dursley family, one of many that he kept tabs on. Not because he gave a damn about them, but because they were related to him through the Evans line. He'd noted Vernon Dursley, when he'd married Petunia, another granddaughter of his. He hadn't known why, at the time, but he'd felt something prompting him that opening a file on Dursley would be a good idea..

And now he knew why that prompting had happened. It hadn't happened very often over his eighty years of life, but every time it had, his life had changed dramatically. When he was in his late twenties, something had prompted him to have his new company buildings overbuilt massively, and they had been among the few to survive the war unscathed years later. When he'd seen a small advertisement in passing in one of his technician's work-related magazines, it had prompted him to invest in the fledgeling software company that, at the time, produced BASIC interpreters.

"Do we still own majority shares in Grunnings?" Evans asked. Vaughan had an incredible memory for financial and business detail, but he lacked that spark of imagination for truly managing it. "I do believe that that is Dursley's employer, is it not?"

"We do," Vaughan confirmed.

"Have the Rolls brought to the front at five pm today," Evans ordered. "Contact Dursley today, and inform him that we will be visiting him personally, in his home. Give him the impression that, if he makes a good impression, this may be a turning point in his career."

"Yes, sir," Vaughan said, making a small notation in a notebook. "Should I inform him that you will be staying for tea, sir?"

Evans smiled. He had many smiles, but this one looked predatory. "Yes. I have a feeling that tonight will be... memorable, for his little household."

* * *

Vernon Dursley was in a flap. He'd received a very important phonecall at work, and had immediately rang home to Petunia, who was even now cooking for all she was worth while the boy cleaned up (and Dudley, bless him, was supervising the brat to make sure the miscreant actually cleaned, rather than make things worse.)

Petunia hissed from where she was watching through her prized lace curtains. "Vernon! He's in a Rolls-Royce!"

"He owns the parent company to Grunnings, of course he does," Vernon said. "Boy! Cupboard, now! And if you so much as peep, it'll be one piece of toast a day until you graduate Stonewall!"

Harry scuttled into his little cupboard under the stairs, and watched as his uncle greeted the guests. The door was opened to reveal a brunette young man with steel-framed glasses in his twenties, in a tidy suit, with a slim briefcase. He stepped aside to show what had to be the oldest man Harry had ever seen.

The old man was in a three piece suit, with a gold chain running to a vest pocket. His hair was pure white, a bit wispy, but it still covered most of his head (which was more than what most of the old men Harry had seen could say.) Vivid green eyes looked out of a somewhat wrinkled, drawn face, while a gaunt hand grasped a walking stick.

"Welcome to our humble house," Vernon said with a bow, cutting a comical figure. "This is my lovely wife Petunia, and my son Dudley."

Harry let back a near inaudible sigh, and leaned back on the cupboard wall. This was going to be a long, boring evening.

* * *

"My compliments, Mrs Dursley, you are a truly gifted cook," Evans said. He didn't particularly _like_ the woman, but he could admit a truth.

"Thank you, sir," Petunia said with a smile.

"But I do have to wonder," Evans said, "at the whereabouts of your young nephew, Potter."

"Potter?" Vernon asked weakly. Even when the boy was locked up, he was making trouble for him!

Evans couldn't believe this. If he ever did go senile and promote Dursley beyond middle management, the man would be eaten alive at the first board meeting. "Yes, him."

"A-a-a bad seed, I'm afraid," Petunia got out, somehow. "He was involved in, in a fight at school today, so he's grounded in his room."

"I would prefer not to go through this old, old routine," Evans said dryly, lacing his hands together. While her roast beef and Yorkshire pudding had been superlative, Petunia's teamaking skills were excretable, but he was polite enough to not bring it up. "Dursley, why is the boy not here?"

"He's trouble," Vernon protested. "Always getting into fights with Dudley, always ruining things around the house!"

Evans leaned forwards, looking Vernon in the eyes, then leant back into the chair. "You truly do believe this. Regardless, I wish to see the boy."

"I-if you're sure," Vernon stuttered. He rose from his chair. "If you'll excuse me, I'll just go and get him."

Closing the door behind him, Vernon opened the cupboard door and roughly pulled Harry out. "There's no time to tidy you up, so do what I say or it will go very hard for you indeed, understand?"

Harry nodded resignedly.

Vernon pulled him roughly through to the dining room. "Here he is, sir, in his room for troublemaking in school. Bad seed, I'm afraid."

"Come here, boy," Evans ordered. Harry obeyed. The ancient man bent slightly, staring at Harry. The five year old was scared, but held firm, looking back with eyes wide open in fear, but holding fast. "Hmmm."

"Would you like some of my famous pavlova?" Petunia asked, voice quavering. "Harry, come through and help, please?"

Evans straightened in his chair. "Quite."

The very nearly unseen watcher, Vaughan, pushed his glasses back up by the bridge with his right hand. Vernon jumped as the man moved for the first time in an hour.

Vernon made small talk, or tried to, as Petunia whipped the cream with Harry's help. Eventually, thankfully, she emerged from the kitchen with the pavlova, topped with whipped cream and chocolate chips, Harry bringing a fruit salad behind her.

"Just a moment, sir," Petunia said politely, bring a small stool from the kitchen for Harry. Normally, he'd be sent to eat on the stair steps, but Vernon seemed to want to appear gracious to the important guest, so she was willing to go along with that. "Would you like some fruit salad as well?"

Evans indicated that yes, he would.

"Would you like some as well, Mr Vaughan?" Vernon asked, relying on his memory for names. His poor personal skills were outweighed, somewhat, by his ability to recall anyone's name from one meeting people were flattered by this.

"No," the assistant said. Petunia jumped.

* * *

The basic idea is that Lily's grandfather, Harry's great-grandfather, is still around. Lily's father got into a massive fight with Mr Evans, and this is why Petunia never knew him, and why the Death Eaters never knew to hunt him down like (presumably) they normally would have. It is also why Mr Evans does not know about the Wizarding World.

Mr Evans finds out about Harry and takes him away from the Dursleys. He sees that Harry has that spark of fire, and grooms him to be his heir and protege, somewhat like a mix between Richie Rich and a far less rebellious Fox (from Gargoyles, married to Xanatos.) At Hogwarts, Harry would get on better with someone like Finch-Fletchley than Ron.

The magical ability that blossomed in Lily was spawned in Evans - the 'prompting' was a minor precognitive ability, and his ability to read people a small amount of empathy or legimency.

Not horribly likely that I'd continue this, so feel free if you want.


	48. Retread Sorting

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione put the Sorting Hat on her head, and waited.

'So, Miss Granger, another go, eh? Or should that be Mrs Potter?'

'Gryffindor, if you please. And kindly assign Draco Malfoy to Mr Filch.'

'Why should I subvert my calling like that? I haven't done anything of the sort for a thousand years.'

'After graduating Hogwarts, I developed a runic array that allows a sentient object like the Sorting Hat to manifest a solid-light body, and interact with the rest of Hogwarts.'

'DONE! Finally, something to do BESIDES eavesdrop on the Headmaster and tease the portraits!' "Gryffindor!"

Harry patiently waited, as Malfoy finally got up to the stool. Before it even settled on his head, it screamed out, "FILCH!"

"What do you mean, Filch?" Draco demanded snottily.

"Exactly what I said," the Sorting Hat said smugly. "You're not in any house, you are to help Argus Filch with the janitorial duties involved with a castle this size and antiquity."


	49. Survey

Disclaimer: I dun own dis.

Pre-fic Comments:

Another scene-bunny. No sequels. AU something-or-other year. Numbers are in /*NO*/ way accurate and all OC names are pinched from my bookshelf.

* * *

Harry stared at the head table, where several new faces could be seen. They ran the gamut of personalities, from quietly frowning to a jovial, laughing old man who was patting Hagrid on the back. They were uniformly all over the age of thirty, though. At least. One bright spot was that their mere presence seemed to offend Snape highly, as his scowl was even more pronounced than usual.

"Who're they?," Ron hissed to Hermione.

"I don't know," Hermione said. "I don't recognise any of them."

"They don't look like corpsemunchers, or chickenheads," Harry muttered.

"I'm sure Headmaster Dumbledore will tell us," Hermione said primly.

As it turned out, he didn't.

* * *

Harry's finely tuned sense of paranoia was starting to go off something wicked. The strangers had been seen talking to students, and after one talked to Neville, the walking Potions disaster ran to talk to the Golden Trio immediately.

"They're inspectors?," Ron asked incredulously.

"Well, they can't tell everyone, Ronald," Hermione said. "Then everyone would be on their best behaviour."

"Seems a bit strange that we'd be getting them now and not last year," Harry noted. "The Ministry would have had a lot more snitches then."

* * *

Not long after that, one cornered Harry to talk to him. He was surprised it had taken that long, actually.

"Hello, Mister Potter," the old man beamed. "A pleasure to talk to you, a real priviledge. My name is Williams, Julius Williams."

"Uh, call me Harry," Harry said, not sure how to talk to this energetic old man.

"I'm here to help with a survey for one of the International Certification Bodies," the man explained. "As part of this, we're taking a poll as to student opinions of their subjects."

"I didn't know Fudge had set up a survey group," Harry said, still cagey.

"Oh, we're not under the British Ministry," the man laughed. "Heavens, no. We're an international body, with several signatories, of which the British Ministry is one."

"Ah, okay," Harry said. "What did you want to know?"

The man looked down at his clipboard for a moment. "First, opinions. What do you think of Transfiguration?"

Harry frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "Uh, Professor McGonagall is a great teacher, and we all learn heaps from her."

Williams nodded, making a note. "And Potions?"

Harry's face turned into a black scowl. "A load of gryphon shi-er, don't write that down, please?"

Julius laughed. "I'll put down 'worthless', shall I?"

Harry nodded gratefully.

"Now, what's the most advanced piece of transfiguration you've been taught so far?"

* * *

The group of men sat around a large, square table. Several large sheets of parchment sat on top of it.

"So, what are we going to report to the International Body of Potions Certification?," a lazy looking man asked, leaning back with fingers interlocked across his stomach.

A thin, dour man flicked his sheet into the middle. "Well, my figures all point to the same thing. Three quarters of Hogwarts students perceive Potions to be worthless, trivial at best."

Williams looked heartbroken. "Are you sure, Asprin?"

Asprin nodded. "Ninety percent of the Houses Gryffindor and Hufflepuff contribute to this score, with Ravenclaw being noticeable in having similar scores to Slytherin, in an average of sixty percent derision."

Williams took another deep sigh. "Elliot? You were assigned... positive breakdown?"

A precise looking man nodded sharply, pulling his sheet neatly into position with nimble, longfingered hands. "Of the roughly twenty five percent expressing interest in the topic of Potions, only a fifth expressed interest in any jobs dealing directly with potions, with the other four fifths taking it only as a side track to a real job."

"But... everyone loved Potions when I was in Hogwarts," Williams protested. "When Professor Phule did practical demonstrations... they were famous! Remember the dragonsblood, and the wormwood?"

"Phule was a teacher, Williams, and could communicate his passion for his subject," Elliot sniffed. He shuffled his papers, bringing another one to the forefront. "Given Hogwarts traditionally supplies nearly all of the world's potion-pharmacists, and contribute greatly to some lines of research..."

"It's a mercy that other countries can provide the perfumiers, that's all I'm saying," the lazy man growled. "We'll all be sickeningly ill, dependant on using up magic reserves, but at least we'll smell good."

Julius heaved a great sigh. "There's only one thing for it. We'll have to replace Snape - the man is an excellent researcher, but couldn't teach a monkey how to pour pee out of a boot."

Asprin pounded the table with his fist. "Goddammit all to sodding HELL! NEWT Potions are needed for most top level jobs in manufacturing and services! We're going to have a massive labour shortage when this generation grows up - we're already starting to see it."

"Yes, yes, rising prices for medi-wizards due to potion price increase," Williams said. "Can't do anything about that, but we have to start to turn it around."

The blonde Asprin, who bore an amazing resemblance to Owen Burnett, threw his papers to the table in disgust. "Amazing, how one man can so thoroughly screw the whole sodding nation. Former Death Eater, isn't he? Are we really sure that he is former, and not currently one?"

* * *

Post-comments:

Probably a load of horsesh!t, but it wouldn't stop bugging me at the time. I was thinking of sugar and nitric acid wrt the demonstration comment.


	50. Nonhuman Human

Summary: Nonhumans never have been valued much in the British Wizarding World, which is why Harry has laboured under a seal for nearly all his short life...

Crossover: World of Warcraft

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this.

* * *

Eight years of age:

Harry chewed morosely on the bread that Aunt Petunia had given to him today. He always felt hungry, for some reason, and even eating did absolutely nothing to alleviate that. The lack of... something... did nothing to help his appetite - he found that eating the food that the Dursleys left him neither filled him nor left him wanting more.

Sometimes, passing down the street, he felt the hunger lighten, somewhat, though it was never to an appreciable amount. He never worked out what caused it to lift, since it never happened twice at the same spot. His aunt's house was also a place where he felt... well, not as needful of that thing.

He hated not knowing what it was that he felt hungry for.

It wasn't food. He'd tried pigging out, once, while the Dursleys had been on a day trip with Dudley. If anything, he felt even more hungry during and after, and he'd been soundly thrashed when Aunt Petunia found that their Christmas ham had been eaten by her unloved and unwanted nephew.

It wasn't water. Drinking lots of water from the hose in the garden only made him want to pee.

He had even tried electricity. After getting an enormous belt from a Van de Graaf generator at school during a demonstration (and getting detention for that), nothing had changed.

Staring at the dusty wooden underside of the stairs, he still felt hunger.

* * *

Dumbledore frowned. The bloodwards protecting young Potter were decaying over time faster than theory said that they should have been. Normally, he would have contracted Gringotts to provide wardmakers of a higher calibre than what he himself could erect, but as matters stood too many people already knew of Harry's whereabouts for his liking.

Angling his wand at the emerald buried under the Dursleys' front yard, the foundation of the wards, he put more energy into the wards. It was only a temporary fix to the problem, since he had not fixed the root cause, but it would keep the blood wards up, and keep the young boy safe.

Dropping into Mrs Figg, his local spy of sorts in the area, Dumbledore found that nothing untoward had happened recently. The combination of the fact that wizards dressed absurdly compared to muggle standards, and the gossipy nature of the area meant that she would have heard of any magical visitors.

Shaking his head, Albus Apparated to Diagon Alley.

* * *

Eleven years of age:

Harry's eyes widened.

Staring at the dingy little door in a busy London street, he felt...

Not so hungry.

The words of the immensely huge man washed over him, unnoticed, as he revelled in the lack of... that hunger... was it magic?

Harry knew it must be.

* * *

Thirteen years of age:

Harry grinned at Ron.

"Stop holding back, mate, what was I?," Ron demanded. "Hermione?"

"You were an... American pit bull terrier," Hermione said.

"A what?"

"A type of dog Ron, famous for being loyal and fierce," Harry said, not mentioning that they were also known for vicious attacks on children in the media, warranted or not.

Ron smiled widely at this. "Okay, your turn now, 'Mione."

"Hey!," Harry protested. "Why can't I go next?"

"We decided this, Harry," Hermione sighed. "A cointoss for who goes first out of you and Ron, since you bankrolled the ingredients for the Animagus Potion and he provided the contacts to get the rare materials, and I go in the middle, since I did the brewing."

Harry sighed. He understood, and knew that Hermione deserved to go before him. That didn't mean he liked the waiting.

Hermione tipped back the vial, coughing briefly at the taste. The two boys looked, eyes wide, as she transformed, then transformed back.

"What am I?," she asked breathlessly.

"You're a fox," Ron said bluntly.

"Thank you for the compliment," she said cagily, "but what AM I?"

"He meant that you were literally a fox," Harry said. "You know, like you see in the countryside."

"Oh!," Hermione said, eyes going wide. "That's so fitting! Foxes are well known worldwide for magic powers, and cleverness, and..."

"That's our Hermione," Ron said proudly.

"Now can I have my turn?," Harry said.

"Yes, Harry," Hermione said.

"You're both watching?," Harry asked worriedly. He didnt want them to be preoccupied thinking about their own forms and not telling him what his was - without knowing what to study, it could take him decades to finish the transformation, and the potion could only be used once in one's lifetime.

"Yes, now drink," Ron said, impatient as always. Harry never could understand how Ron was so patient in chess, laying down devious traps, and so impatient at any other time.

Harry tipped back his share of the potion, his tongue feeling ticklish for some reason, and choked it down.

His sight blurred, and he distantly felt his flesh moving around, and a stabbing pain in his stomach for some reason which settled down. As soon as it began, it seemed to him to be over. Reaching on the ground for his glasses which had fallen off in the excitement, he looked at his two friends.

"What was I?," he asked.

"I have no idea mate, sorry," Ron said, frowning.

Harry turned to look at Hermione, who was also frowning, thoughtfully in her case.

"You know, right, Hermione?," Harry asked desperately. "You're the cleverest witch I know!"

"You were still humanoid in appearance," she said, "which strongly suggests you're either a magical being which is humanoid in basic appearance, or not capable of the animagus transformation."

"He didn't look human!," Ron protested. "His ears and eyes went funny and he was taller!"

"That's true," Hermione said, eyes distant.

"Tell me!," Harry said.

"Your eyes were still green, Harry, but they were glowing. And your ears got really long... I think I need to-"

"Research this," the two boys chorused grumpily.

"Yes," she said, put out at being interrupted. "I'll go look now."

"I'm coming," Harry said quickly.

"I'm staying here, I want to work on this," Ron said.

* * *

Harry flicked through the book idly, before a picture caught his eye. A tall man, with glowing green eyes and ears that were long, standing straight up from the head, and tapered to a point. His hair was long, but black.

"Hermione," he said slowly.

"What?," she said, looking over. "Oh! Apart from the clothes, that is YOU!"

Harry read through the text on the page. "Apparently they're addicted to magic, and have to control the hunger for magic every day, or feed on... 'fel' magic to sate it. What does sate mean?"

"Satisfy," Hermione said distantly, reading through it with him. "There are two types - High Elves, who control the hunger through meditation, and Sin'dorei, who feed on fel magic to sate the hunger."

Harry turned the page, then cringed. "THAT is the same person?"

The picture on this page was of a thin, crazed looking creature, hunched over. It reminded Harry of nothing so much as a documentary he had seen once on drug addicts that Uncle Vernon had made him watch once. He thought it had been to try and 'scare him straight' or something.

Hermione nodded. "It says here that they are Sin'dorei who failed to control the addiction and succumb to their thirst for magic. They're called the Wretched."

Harry shuddered.

"I wonder how you got an elf like this for your animagus form?," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Not to mention what the house elves know."

"There's one way to find out," Harry said, deliberately trying to think of something other than the 'Wretched'. It looked like a truly miserable thing. "Dobby!"

"Is Master Harry Potter wanting something from Dobby?," the slightly unbalanced servant said, appearing with a faint pop.

"Dobby, what can you tell us about High Elves, or Sin'dorei?," Hermione asked.

"Dobby does not know what they are," the small elf said. He began to bang his head against the table. "Dobby is sorry Dobby doesn't know!"

Harry grabbed Dobby's shoulders. "You don't need to punish yourself for not knowing."

"But it is important to Harry Potter," Dobby protested.

"It's okay," Harry said, uncomfortable with being perceived a social superior. "You can go back to whatever you were doing."

As the elf disappeared with another pop, Hermione looked thoughtful.

"I thought that magical forms were impossible, let alone intelligent humanoid magical forms," Harry said crossly."

"So did I," Hermione said. "At least, thats what I've read. I'll have to look into it."

* * *

Fourteen years of age:

Harry was beginning to be annoyed. His animagus form was more powerful in magic, with greater magical reserves and less need of a wand at all, but was very noticeable, whereas Hermione and Ron got to use theirs all the time. If anyone noticed a dog, they thought it a stray. Foxes were paid even less attention. But people with glowing eyes and huge ears? Noticed in a heartbeat.

"Have you got any ideas yet?," he asked Hermione.

She chewed the end of her quill. "I've got a few."

"Give me one," he said.

"Welll... was your mother human?," she asked. Noticing Harry getting upset, she hurried on. "If she was one, then maybe that's how your heritage through her shines through, since you've always looked completely human rather than half human."

"I don't know," Harry admitted, "but Professor Dumbledore might."

Ten minutes they had gotten into the headmaster's office and were talking to the man.

"Yes, Lily as a matter of fact was not human," Dumbledore said, as if it were of no more import than her previous status of muggleborn. "To keep upset in both societies to a minimum, she maintained an image of humanity while in the Wizarding World."

"Why?," Harry asked, upset.

"She was a blood elf, Harry," Dumbledore explained. "Sin'dorei. They don't trust humans, not at all, even though they taught the first of us magic. To find that one of their own was living with us... and as for our society, you know how people tend to regard Hagrid even today, and he has been here for more than fifty years."

"But Professor," Hermione burst in, "that doesn't explain Harry's animagus form!"

"Animagus form?," Dumbledore asked, looking over his halfmoon spectacles at her. "No, I won't tell. Harry, if you would?"

Harry transformed, feeling the change in his magic immediately, even as his sight sharpened to the point that he didn't need his own glasses.

"Hmmm," Dumbledore hmmm'ed. "Kindly open your shirt."

This request made Harry a bit wary, but he did so. Hermione blushed. A black design now shone forth on his pale chest.

"You may close it now."

"Professor, what was that?," Hermione asked. "And Harry, why didn't you tell me?"

"It's a bit personal," Harry protested. "What was I supposed to say, Hermione I've got a tattoo on my bare chest, wanna see it? Do I look like Dean or Seamus?"

"I believe I understand now," Dumbledore cut in, dissipating the budding argument. "While Lily was capable of maintaining glamours on herself, she would have placed a magical seal on any child of her own to hide its elven heritage. Over time, the seal strengthened, and with the animagus potion, your blood elven heritage took the chance to emerge."

Harry blinked. "So... my animagus form is really my true form?"

"No, Harry, while you are half sin'dorei from your mother's side, you are still half human from your father's side," Dumbledore corrected him, "for make no mistake, Lily and James truly did love each other."

"Well, it certainly explains that hunger for magic," Harry said absently.

"WHAT?," Hermione erupted.

"Yeouuuuch!," Harry protested. "These ears are sensitive, Hermione!"


	51. Dudley And Harry

I'm still ticking this over in my head. The problem is that most of the plotwork occurs when I'm trying to sleep, and it gets lost when I do finally fall asleep.

* * *

There is a wellknown story featuring a boy wizard with a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead, green eyes, and trouble magnet tendencies. This story has many, many permutations. His childhood nemesis in nearly all of them is Dudley Dursley.

This Dudley, however, empathised with Harry. When the two of them had been bundled off to kindergarten by Mrs Dursley the other children had picked on the two of them quite ferociously, with young Piers Polkiss being the ringleader.

"The toad and the tapeworm!" Polkiss had squealed, and the unflattering nicknames had stuck.

Dudley became the fat kid that no one wanted in their team, since he was always last, and who was beaten up for his lunch money (of which his father Vernon Dursley normally supplied ample amounts.) Harry was the weird kid that none of the others trusted ﾭ there was something eerie about him.

The two cousins became as close as brothers, brought together by adversity.

Mrs Dursley was not keen on the idea at all at first. But Dudley moping until Harry was let out of his cupboard eventually won her over. Mr Dursley was even less happy, but was willing to put up with Harry for Dudley's sake..

* * *

Harry and Dudley were not happy. They were quite far from happy, in fact they were scared as hell.

The two of them had been watching The Transformers on the telly (one of the few cartoons that Mr Dursley approved of, due to it's technological basis which he regarded as anti-fantasy) when Mrs Dursley had asked them to duck out to the dairy for some cream for their pudding. They had agreed, and as soon as they had turned the corner out of sight of the house, had been jumped by Polkiss and his gang.

Piers had stolen the ten pound note, and was now happily watching his friends beat the snot out of Dudley. He was kneeling on Harry's back, and rubbing Harry's face in the dirt while he watched.

"Stop snivelling, Potter," he jeered.

Harry hadn't been doing anything of the sort, just wishing that this wasn't happening. That Piers Polkiss lived in China, or had never been born. That Aunt Petunia hadn't sent him and Dudley to the shops.

What he wished most of all, though, was that he and Dudley had the power to stand against _anyone_ who tried this. He wished he was clever and sneaky like Jazz, or a golden sportscar like that one that didn't appear in the cartoons very often but always looked good, or as confident in himself as the Autobot stunt plane Powerglide. Harry had only told Dudley this, but he always felt sorry for Starscream, who always got beaten up by Megatron just like him and Dudley got beaten up. Dudley told him once that he liked Rumble ﾭ the little Decepticon always fought back when other Decepticons or Autobots tried to pick on him.

Harry wished that Dudley and him weren't just two little boys being beaten up, just like every other day of their life.

For the first time in his life, two teardrops fell from his eyes. Rather than refracting light as teardrops do sometimes, harsh, actinic light seemed to flood out from between the ground and Harry's face.

When they touched the ground, everything changed.

* * *

"Ratchet, Sideswipe, Brawn, meet me outside the Ark! Skyfire, prepare for immediate travel to the United Kingdom!"

"What's going on now, Prime?" Brawn asked once they were all aboard Skyfire and on their way.

"We've received reports from British authorities that a pair of Transformers have appeared in southern England," Prowl said. "We don't know which faction they are ﾭ the humans on the scene can't see any faction insignia."

"Descriptions also don't match any of the cats we know," Jazz said. The three officers had been monitoring Teletraan One when the call had come in. "If they're hostile, we should be able to handle two small 'cons, and if they're neutral or Autobot, then ol' Ratchet'll be able to fix 'em up, better than new."

"We're going to have to land at a nearby airstrip from the human's last World War and drive to the site," Prowl noted, studying a map on a datapad.

Ratchet frowned. "Were any photographs sent?"

"No, unfortunately," Optimus said. "A news crew has arrived, but don't have live broadcast gear with them."

"I really hope they're not Decepticons, then," said Brawn. "If two Cons wake up in the middle of so many humans..."

Silence reigned in Skyfire's hold, only broken by Ratchet checking his tools and supplies as he brought them out of subspace.

* * *

Sideswipe stared. "Prime, that's a Seeklet."

"Yes, Sideswipe," Optimus said. "Ratchet, anything to report?"

The EMT looked up from where he was bent over the Seeklet. "No, they're in great condition apart from being in shock for some reason. The cassette-bot there is also suffering from minor spark depletion, but nothing I can't take care of."

"Wonder where the creators are?" Jazz thought out loud. "Don't make sense ﾭ I ain't never seen Seekers leave their young alone like this, and none of the Decepticons got creations this young."

"I'm going to bring Hoist in for this when we get back to the Ark," declared Ratchet. "I'm a surgeon ﾭ younglings and general practice are more his speciality, and I don't know much about treating cassette-bots like this one. Mechs like Blaster and Soundwave generally do all the repair and maintenance for their cassettes on their own."

"Alright," Optimus said. He transformed, and the doors to his trailer popped open. "Load the cassette-bot, and see if you can fit the Seeklet in as well."

Brawn carefully laid the blue cassette-bot down near the front of the trailer. Unlike Eject, Rewind, Frenzy, or Rumble, the bot's face was completely hidden by both mask and visor.

Ratchet paused. He pulled a tube loaded with glowing green liquid, emptying it into the Seeklet through one of the youngling's standard medical access ports. "Prime, I'm sedating this one. If he wakes up in a noisy, highly confined space like your trailer, even as a juvenile Seeker he's likely to go into a blind panic."

"Understood, Ratchet," Prime said.

"I'll sit in there with them," Brawn said. "I'm small enough to fit there."

* * *

Harry felt fuzzy. His head felt full of cotton wool and sand, his limbs felt like when he'd nearly drowned, and Uncle Vernon had saved him.

"Easy there," a comforting voice said. Harry opened his eyes to see...

"Ratchet?" Harry almost yelled.

The Autobot smiled. "So, you've heard of me. Great. Don't worry, bitlet, we don't know where your creators are, but you're going to be fine."

Harry felt panic begin to build. "Dudley? Where's Dudley?"

"Your friend?" Ratchet asked, a faint frown beginning to build. "I'm afraid the cassette is suffering from spark deprivation. He's in intensive care right now, and Hoist thinks he'll pull through alright."

* * *

Hoist looked up at Skyfire. "What exactly is the problem, here?"

Skyfire frowned. The expression seemed foreign to his face. "The seeklet will feel guilty over leaving his friend to learn his first flight... associations of guilt with the greatest joy in a Seeker's life, flight, never ends well."

* * *

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "I think I may have a theory as to how this occured. Open their... 'sparks' to me, please."

Hoist and Ratchet recoiled in horror. Ratchet immediately pushed Dumbledore away, standing between the two younglings and the old man, while Hoist pulled out his rifle and drew a bead on the old wizard.

"Hoist, Ratchet, what's going on here?" Prowl asked, picking that moment to enter the room.

"That... that deviant _pervert_ wants to see the Sparks of our two younglings here," Ratchet snarled, right hand clenching and unclenching.

"I... suspect that I have missed something here," Dumbledore said cautiously, well aware that even the smallest foreign entity outmassed him several times over.


	52. Harry Adores Slash

The radio station had a single from Slash's new solo album, a GnR single, and a Velvet Revolver single back to back today. The Rock are good like that.

* * *

Harry timidly pulled a textbook out of his trunk and tried to hide behind it. The two redheaded twins who had helped him with his trunk had somehow managed to put him in a compartment with three seventh year girls that Harry didn't know at all.

After a while he lost himself reading about bloody wars and heroes, not all of them human.

A phrase from the conversation leapt out and landed in his ears an hour into the trip.

"Oh, come on, Aingeal, it's not as if we're going to find a slash fanboy who will let us watch!"

Harry looked up from his book, lowering it so he could see the three seventh year girls again. "I love Slash! I'm a major fanboy!"

There was a long pause while Harry beamed at the girls, happy to have found a common ground to start to make friends with. He wasn't very good at it, due to lack of practice, though. The girls just looked incredibly uncomfortable.

"... okay, kiddo, we completely forgot you were there, sorry. What do you mean, you're a major fanboy?"

Harry rummaged through his trunk until he pulled out a poster that looked like it came from a magazine centrefold. It had a rock star playing guitar with long hair and a top hat on it.

"Slash, from Guns and Roses! I want to buy a guitar and rock, but Hagrid said I had to ask my guardian if I was allowed to spend that much when he saw what Slash model Les Pauls cost."

The girls looked incredibly relieved.

"McGonagall would have murdered us if he knew what we meant," one whispered to another. "Play along for now until he goes back to reading."

* * *

Later in the train trip, the girls had managed to repress the fact Harry was there, along with the highly embarassing conversation he'd jumped into.

"Oh, come on, it's not like you don't turn into a bloodthirsty monster once a month as well," one of them snapped.

"Really?" a small voice piped up. "Are you werewolves? That would be so cool! Hey, are there weretigers, or wererhinos, or weremoggies too?"

Aingeal winked at Michelle with the eye that Harry couldn't see. "Ooops, you found out! Yes, we're all werecheetahs, but don't tell anyone!"

"That is so cool, I know werecheetahs," Harry wondered, then looked sad. "But I can't tell anyone. Darn. Hey, could you make me one?"

"We're not allowed," Michelle improvised. "Because... then we'd have to teach you and look after you, and our parents think we're too young for that."

The gap between Harry's eyebrows furrowed as he thought for a minute. The girls looked on in amusement. Toying with him was fun, he was so cute!

"I know!" Harry said, as a devious grin bloomed on his face. He leapt at Michelle. "Bite me! Come on, bite me!"

Michelle was stuck in the dilemma of laughing uproariously, trying not to bite on Harry's hand that he'd tried to stuff in her mouth, and trying not to choke or cough.

* * *

A/N I can easily see this blooming into a 'Harry's Accidental Magic MAKES It Happen' thing and snowballing. My inner fanboy insists that Harry create Fred Perry style werecheetah, not insane JKR style weres.


	53. Harry, the Dementor, and the Netherwing

The Dementor and it's companion drifted southward, to the place it had been compelled to go.

It did not know why.

It did not care why.

It knew that it was... permitted (it railed against the fact that it had to bow to these permissions and restrictions) to drain a particular life force.

It had existed for millenia. The only remaining... it felt no pleasure, but the only remaining rise it felt was from souls of unusual consistency. Even the experiences it drained from the captive life force near the chainstone was near-stultifying to it.

It felt no hope, no joy, but it knew it would experience a brief rise in existence if it drained such a soul.

It drifted southward.

* * *

Harry kicked his small student desk, hard. It had been dilapidated from the start (after, of course, Dudley had subjected it to his loving attention), and was even more so now.

He'd been in a ferocious fight with his aunt and uncle, after they'd found him listening to the news whilst lying on the flowerbed under the lounge window. Harry had been moments from storming out, to walk the streets, when he'd been ordered to his room.

The satisfaction of walking out was outweighed by the punishment Uncle Vernon would undoubtedly dole out later.

* * *

The Dementor encountered life force, contained in a body of unusual size for it's stature. It was dull, boring, but it still drained it greedily. Life force was hard to come by, now that it and it's brethren was bound by the Chainstone.

It drifted further towards the soul it had been directed to.

* * *

Harry felt cold. And sad, as if he'd never feel happy again.

Harry knew this feeling. He rushed to the door, rattling it as he realised that Uncle Vernon had locked the several catches on the hall side of it. He breathed sharply for a moment, before realising that this meant that the Dementor (why was a Dementor in Little Whinging? This was as muggle as it got!) was therefore locked on the other side too.

Harry whirled to dash to his wand, stored in his trunk under the window, before stopping dead.

The second Dementor that had swooped in through the window lowered it's hood.

* * *

An island of rock drifted, held close to a continent by chains of both gravity and ethereal power.

Green skinned orcs slaved on it, mining ore, chiseling free crystal.

Overseers soared around it on shadowy, translucent dragons, throwing punishment at orcs who attempted rebellion and collecting ore and shards.

Trainers whipped the shadowy dragons while young, training them through pain and fear to do as commanded. Some died. This was acceptable, as long as not too many did so.

Some free dragons rebelled against the orcs, taking action against them. One deliberately hid in orc form, giving the orc peons food poisoned with fel glands from the demon-tainted wildlife on the main continent.

* * *

When the Dementor drained Harry's life force, two forces came into contention. One was the Dementor. It drained Harry's life force, and severed the bond between body and soul. The second was Fate, the Prophecy, predestination. It declared that Harry would perform his role.

The Dementor was threatening to stand in the way of this.

The Dementor exploded, releasing the souls it had recently claimed.

* * *

Three poisoned orcs shook their heads, rising from their death-sleep.

"Potter? POOOOTTEEEER!" the largest screamed.

The smaller male looked at his hands before beginning to hyperventilate.

The female screamed uncontrollably.

* * *

A dead netherdrake rolled off the edge of the rocky island floating in space, before it shook it's great head.

"Where.. am I?" Harry asked, looking around. Reflexively his wings stretched out, beating frantically as he gained altitude.

* * *

A/N Yes, World of Warcraft, Burning Crusade. Netherwing Faction.

My original thought was Vernon, Petunia and Dudley as ogres, but couldn't figure out how to swing it.


	54. Harry Potter and the Cossack Berserker

I got the initial idea from letting Clell's Triwzard Tales percolate for a few months (I'm slow like that) after playing around with a phaser and a Korina-bodied Micawber. Look up Evil Genius for details on the game in which Red Ivan originated. I borrowed some details from the TV series Deadliest Warrior's episode on Spetznaz vs Green Beret. The Spetznaz guys were scary - most other guests were KILL MURDER KILL (you WANTED the samurai guys to lose horribly, they were that bloody arrogant) but the Russian dudes were just quiet. Yeah, you'll die. Nothing personal.

JKR, Prisoner of Azkaban: "Well goodbye, Harry," he said, smiling. "It has been a real pleasure teaching you. I feel sure weﾒll meet again some time. Headmaster, there is no need to see me to the gates, I can manage..."

Some hack writer:

Harry sniffed. It wasn't often that he gave into emotion, but...

"But I'll miss you, Professor Lupin... I mean, I know that Padfoot said he'd write to make the Dursleys back off, but even so..."

Remus looked at Harry, tilting Harry's chin up with his right hand. Harry nearly shied away from the contact, before relaxing.

"I think I could contact some... old acquaintances, certainly not friends. But they won't come cheap, Harry."

"I don't mind," Harry said defiantly.

Remus gave into impulse and hugged Harry. "Don't worry, compared to the Potter estate it would be like Rupert Murdoch spending tuppence on sweets.

Dumbledore stepped forwards then to say farewell.

* * *

Harry stood up from where he was weeding the front garden. A huge Russian man had parked a blocky, rectangular car at the curb, and had gotten out.

"You are Harry Potter?" the man asked in a heavy Slavic accent, looking between a photograph and Harry's face.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Er, I mean, yes, I am, sir."

"Good, good," the man said, before sniffing. "I am Red Ivan. I am hired as your... how do you say... bodyguard, yes. I am told to tell you by my sponsors that I am up to no good."

Harry brightened up immediately. "You're my bodyguard, then?"

"Da."

Harry looked the man up and down. He was dressed in a crimson coloured Russian Army getup of some manner, with a rocket launcher on his back, and a bandolier of grenades across his front. A heavy satchel threatened other manner of mayhem as well. But even without those, he would still have been formidable. He seemed to Harry to be a Russian T-34 tank given flesh and bone.

"Could you, I don't know, train me physically as well?"

Ivan rubbed his right hand under his nose. "Maybe. Maybe. I am trained in secret police, not in training infantry. I am... indifferent trainer. I try. But this I promise. No one will harm hair on your head while Red Ivan is bodyguard."

* * *

After they had gotten to know each other, Harry found that Ivan got on very well with him (as both someone who did NOT consider himself a citizen of the English capitalist pigdogs, and also not a betraying socialist murderer), and also he with Ivan, as someone that cared whether Harry lived or died.

"Come on! This is sad! I have seen Cossack five year old run further than this!"

Ivan's training method leaved something to be desired, in Harry's opinion, but it gave results. After a summer training under Ivan's gentle tutelage, and after drawing money from Gringotts in British Pounds for food and pigging out at the local feeding barns each night for sustenance, Harry found himself several inches taller, and one or three stone heavier in muscle. Not fat, though. Definitely not fat. Ivan had made him run off every single calorie.

Dudley had made the mistake of challenging Ivan, after declaring Russian fighting to be nothing compared to the art of 'grand British boxing!' Ivan had knocked out his deadlights with one punch, and Dudley had wound up eating through a straw.

Even better, Dumbledore had agreed that Harry's bodyguard could continue to protect (and also, just as importantly to Harry, train him) whilst Harry was at Hogwarts. It was true that the pain was exquisite, but Harry was no stranger to pain and deprivation.

* * *

In deference to Moody's request (but mostly at Harry's wish), Ivan stood at the back of the classroom during Defense.

"Ha. This pathetic," Ivan rumbled.

"What are you on about?" Moody rumbled back.

"You think enemy will miss so often? You must run and leap, and dodge enemy attack," Ivan snorted. "Pathetic capitalist thinking. Not stand and deliver, like you are in American pigdog western movie."

One challenge and three days later, all the students agreed that a Russian RPG-7 easily beat any wand, in the hand of a trained user with the musculature of Hercules and the speed of Hermes.


	55. Harry Potter and the Deific Sponsor

A group of deities were bored stiff. They weren't really permitted to go to the mortal realm on a whim anymore (after Mars and Vulcan partied on Charcoal Tuesday, the Creator put his foot down), even immortal livers needed some downtime to recover from alcohol poisoning, and after a nasty lawsuit in which Odin, Zeus, The Lady and Murphy only just won (most suspected thanks to the Lady), they weren't allowed to play poker anymore.

A new source of entertainment had appeared. Up until now, they'd had fun watching a martial artist in Japan deal with umpity zillion curses and love interests, but that situation was starting to resolve itself.

This time, the source of fun was a Central Figure. A Prophecy had been spoken, and both the holy and demonic sides had vested interest. Ancient compacts meant that each side was only allowed one entity to directly touch the Central Figure's life.

"Ooooh, that has to hurt," Urd, Norn of the Past said. "His godfather being tortured. Does this kid ever get a break?"

Skuld of the Future shook her head. "If Loki doesn't pull finger, I'm going to go to Thor and get him to kick Loki's ass."

"Skuld! Where did you learn that kind of language!" Verthandi, Norn of the Present asked.

"Did I hear my name?" a familiar, if unwelcome voice asked.

"You did indeed," Athena said. "Loki, why are you letting Hell play with the child of prophecy so?"

"Prophecy?" Loki asked. "Oh, the Potter lad. No, he's not set to my sight. My mind is not full of his concern, and I don't feel the link of power that tells me whenever he so much as stumbles on the stairs."

"That's weird, I thought you were," Skuld said, with the bluntness borne of youth.

"Why is that?" Loki asked.

"Well," Urd began, "his mother was a magic using witch, but more importantly, his father..."

"... was a prankster of the highest order," Verthandi continued, "hated by half the people he knew and liked by the others, a shapeshifter, and also a powerful mage. Everyone thought their child would naturally be yours."

Loki rubbed his bare chin. "The boy has potential, I'll admit. I've heard whispering from some of my children about him."

"Really? What?" Venus asked.

"Hel tells me of one man Potter immolated, and how he has sent fragments of another man's soul to her," Loki said. "Fenris tells me of how Potter is friends with one of his own, who was in turn friends with Potter's father, who you so closely identify with me. What a compliment! And Jormundgandr has heard whispers from the lesser serpents of a speaker without the anger and hate of other serpent-speakers."

"Why do you speak so freely, brother?" Thor asked.

"This Potter... interests me," Loki admitted. "I think I will try and find out who has their hand on his soul."

A bolt of lightning struck the ground, leaving a message behind.

"It looks like you're going to get better than that," Athena said, looking at the message from the Creator that Loki was now the deific sponsor for Harry Potter.

A wide grin (with a dash of evil in it) bloomed on Loki's face.

"Potter is owed a lot of help, after fourteen years of demons with a free hand on his soul," Loki mused. "Enough that I can probably get away with this!"

* * *

A/N - late night idea that I couldn't think of anything more for during work.

The god stuff is a bastard cross between Marvel, Ah! My Goddess!, pop culture mythology, and Metroanime's stuff on the addventure. My visual imagery is more Skyrim and music videos for Amon Amarth (youtube them, great viking heavy metal) than Marvel.


	56. Harry Potter and the Witchking

Harry, Ron and Hermione were forced to take the only compartment that wasn't full on the Hogwart's Express for their third year of magical schooling. It already had two people in it, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

One was not very threatening in appearance. He was wearing a very shabby set of robes, and though young, looked tired and sick.

The second, on the other hand, did look very threatening. All that the trio could make out was a set of black armour, with a dusty black cloak thrown on top. Leaning in the corner between the seat and the wall was a long black sword.

"Do you think one of the other compartments'd let us share?" Ron said hopefully.

"I'm sure we'll be fine," Hermione said. Doubt tinged her voice.

"The others are all full," pointed out Harry, with a sigh.

The three schoolchildren sat at the other end of the compartment. They would have left for another, but there wasn't any available. Hermione shared that the shabby man's name was probably R. J. Lupin, owing to the suitcase stored in the rack above him, but they had no clues as to the man in armour.

* * *

They'd quietly talked, mostly about the escape of Sirius Black, and the Hogsmeade visits they'd be allowed this year (or, in Harry's case, allowed if he managed to get around Professor McGonagall, which all three admitted was not very likely.)

The train had slowed down, and the three were expecting that they were pulling into Hogsmeade Station, and were quite distressed to find the lights went out. Neville came into their compartment, tripping over Harry in the confusion, and the nonthreatening man woke up.

"Quiet!" he said in a hoarse voice. "Stay where you are!"

A soft blue light suffused the compartment, only giving minute amounts of illumination, but enough to be known. They all looked around to see two points of light coming from the shadows underneath the armoured man's crown-like helm, as he rose, buckling his sword on.

The sliding door opened slowly before Lupin could reach it, and an unarmoured, cloaked figure towered in the open doorway. A hand rose, glistening, greyish, scabbed, and was cut off in a swift slash that the three children could not follow.

/"Leave,"/ the armoured man rasped. /"Before I get upset. The murderer is not on this train."/

* * *

/"Who am I?"/ the figure asked, seemingly amused. /"Once I would have said Alexander L. Harris, but now I'm more of a grey than a white. And it's the streaky kind, with streamers of black and white paint mixing badly, not a uniform grey."/

"Wicked," Ron breathed. "What are you?"

"Ron!" Hermione snapped, appalled at how rude Ron was being. Harry wisely remained silent on his curiousity.

/"I was dressing for Halloween as one of the Ringwraiths, and a so not cool asshole called Ethan Rayne cast a spell that turned everyone into their costumes,"/ Harris said. His helm tilted slightly, and Harry got the amazing impression of a wry smirk, despite the only facial features being two pinpricks of blue light in the black shadows. /"It seems that you can't stop being a Nazgul as easily as Jojo the Dogfaced Boy."/

"Have you got... it?" Harry asked timidly.

Harris wordlessly held up his right hand. A simple gold ring could be seen worked into the black steel gauntlet. /"So not funny, but that's the only bit of the costume I bought from Rayne, the Green Lantern knock-off, I mean. I scabbed the rest of the costume from my school librarian. Uh, uh, he collects medieval weaponry, and found a suit of armour I could borrow."/

"Introductions are probably in order," Lupin abruptly said, quite briskly. Probably to change the mood. "I'm Professor Lupin, and I'll be your Defense against the Dark Arts professor for this year."

"Hermione Granger."

"Ronald Weasley, and call me Ron."

"Harry Potter."

/"Xander, like I said before. Hey kid, you know you're kind of famous?"/

"I know," Harry said, resignation plain in his voice. Fame was a fickle mistress.

The black helm tilted again. /"Say... I showed you mine, are you gonna show me yours?"/

Despite himself, Harry grinned as he raised his fringe up, showing the... man? Wraith? his curse scar.

"Why are you coming to Hogwarts, anyway?" Hermione asked.

/"Two reasons,"/ Xander said. /"One, because it seems that Dementors have no option but to listen when Ringwraith Witchkings with rings of power order, and two, to see if the head honcho there can figure out a cure for this."/

* * *

A/N: I'm not entirely happy with this snippet. Xander doesn't have the right tone of humour in this. I'll chalk it up as shock from Halloween, and the Witchking's influence.

* * *

/"What does that idiot want now?"/ Xander rasped on his way to the Headmaster's Office. He rubbed his throat absently with his left gauntlet.

"I suspect it involves some dark suspicion of involvement between y'self and the Headmaster," Professor McGonagall offered. She'd been summoned as well, but by Dumbledore rather than Fudge.

/"Twinkie,"/ Xander rumbled, gaining some of his balance back at the gargoyle.

It was just as well that he did, since Minister Fudge started in on him the moment he entered the room.

"Dumbledore! Here is that... that abomination! What excuse do you have for it being here?"

/"You know, you should probably see Madame Pomfrey about that purple skin,"/ Xander offered slyly. As Fudge went reddish purple, he added, /"If you behave nicely, I hear she gives you a chocolate frog. To the first years, anyway."/

"I believe the First Years get a muggle lollipop in addition to a Chocolate Frog, Alexander," Dumbledore cheerfully added.

"Don't sidetrack me!" Fudge roared. "The Dementor you attacked dispersed itself a week later, costing the Ministry of Magic a valuable slave!"

Two blue points of light turned upon Fudge. Everyone got the impression of a face losing all expression, despite the only expressive points in Xander's face being the two points of light. /"Funny thing for you to say. Considering that you yourself assigned soul eaters around children, I mean."/

"I don't see a problem with the destruction of a Dementor," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Considering how they came about."

"How did they?" Fudge said dumbly, sidetracked completely.

"I believe it was from when Dark Lord Snapcase cursed an enclave of wizards and witches," Dumbledore said, unsticking two lemon drops. "Very few have been able to communicate with them since, but then, wraiths find it very hard to communicate with anyone."

/"If they are like myself, as a wraith, then if we brought back the one that I destroyed, he'd be kissing my feet for the brief mercy of death,"/ Xander hissed. /"I'd rather have Jenna Jameson kissing my feet, but given that in my current state the only thing I'd be able to do would be look on in despairing lust, I'll take what I can get."/

"In fact," Dumbledore continued, popping one lemon drop in his mouth and putting the other back in the dish, "I suspect that a canny man could spin this to the press as the Ministry discovering a new method by which to control the Dementors, and utilizing it to make sure that the Dementors act in a law-abiding fashion while around the young, impressionable students residing at Hogwarts."

Fudge opened his mouth. Xander briefly focussed his fear aura upon Fudge - normally, he held it as tightly controlled as the doors to the mall ten minutes before opening time on Black Friday.

Fudge reconsidered. He wasn't going to win this one. "Yes... yes... I see what you mean, Dumbledore. Yes. I'll be in touch with the Prophet. But don't think I'll forget about this!"


	57. Shorts

I'm reading Interesting Times at the mo, and I've got a great idea. These belong to Pterry, NOT me.

"Teach, where are we?"

"I believe we took a wrong turn at Bhangbhangduc, gentlemen."

"Not more of this rubbish foreign muck they call fightin'."

"Be nice, this tournament is a major event for them."

"Hey, mister, you're old enough to qualify, want to go barbarianin' with us?"

ten minutes later

"Pretty damn impressive, what that boy did with his tongue."

"Shame you cut it off."

"Just like that courtesan that Jangjang the Mad had, hehehehe!"

"That shark fella didn't last long."

"Fancy foreign swords like that ain't no good."

* * *

The slim cobra had been sunning himself on a nice rock, catching the early sun's warmth in preparation for some light hunting. It wasn't strictly necessary, but if he got a decent size rat, he wouldn't need to hunt again for a few weeks.

He was just getting nicely warm, when he felt something pull at his center, forcing his body into a long U shape. The unpleasant yank lasted a long while, and when it finished he was forced to squeeze out through a narrow opening onto cold, cold stone, surrounded by many mammals that he recognised as too large to eat, and big enough that his strike would take long to kill, in which time he would be killed by the other mammals. He'd seen what happened to a spectacularly stupid spectacled cobra who had struck in the middle of a herd of cattle. It wound up in seven pieces.

A suicide scenario, then. And the day had been so nice, and his rock so warm...

No matter. He'd take as many of these stupid mammals down as he could with him! He struck eagerly at the one in front of him, reaching the creature's kneecap before being cut in half.

* * *

Silence reigned, before Hermione screamed. "HARRY!"

Lockhart just gibbered, while Snape went a pale, waxen white before slamming to his knees beside the Boy-Who-Lived (and might possibly Die.)

He sucked hard, then spat at the floor. "Stupid girl! RUN, Get Madame Pomfrey!"

* * *

During the next tea, Dumbledore stood up. "For an attempt on a fellow student's life, Draco Malfoy has been docked five hundred points from Slytherin, expelled pending review by the Board of Directors, and reported to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

* * *

A/N It always struck me that the cobra from Lockhart's Duelling Club didn't HAVE to listen to Harry. What if it didn't?

* * *

"Where am I going to find a date for the ball?" Harry wondered out loud. It was a fair question considering most of the school was still against him. A worse thought occured to him. "And I can't dance!"

A slim hand tapped him on the shoulder, and Harry turned to see who it was. A pair of silvery grey eyes regarded him, and even though he was looking at her, Harry couldn't tell you so much as her hair colour.

"Oh, I'm sure that Mr D can dance," the girl said, raising her left hand. Harry's right rose to meet it, his left going to her waist, and he found himself drifting through the hallway. He didn't feel skin at either hand, and he turned to see black silk gloves on her hands.

"Dancing, dancing, with Mr D," the eyes crooned. Harry was getting even more lost. "The ball will be nice, with Mr D at my side."

"But my last name isn't Dursley," he absently protested.

"Oh, no, not Dursley, never Dursley," the eyes said, "but Mr D... you'll be his master, and Mr D can dance."

As she left, disappearing around the corner, Harry realised that he still didn't know his date's name.

* * *

Another Stones inspired fic. Luna just seemed right, here.

* * *

A dark skinned man sat on a dingy, dirty London street. His skin was a deep, black brown to begin with, and burnt a deep charcoal by a sun long removed from Britain. He had with him a long, hollow wooden pipe decorated with handpainted tribal markings, dots, and colourful creatures.

He sat the end of the pipe a couple meters away and played, a reverberating noise echoing. It sounded like nature, like cicada chirping, with crickets, with dogs barking.

Several people threw money on the pavement in front of him. He wore no hat, nothing except a dirty loincloth (which he kept wrapped around himself.)

After a few hours, the man left, having only played his digeridoo.

To Muggle eyes, of course.

* * *

Deep underground, the Ministry of Magic was in chaos.

Six foot tall elves, of all things, had strode through the corridors first, faces dark with anger, muttering of retribution and of their abused cousins.

Then, the brains. Floating brains, with tentacles.

No one was sure what the third creatures were. The closest someone got was 'sun critter', and Heliocritter was how they were subsequently referred to.

Then the floo and other centralised magical systems were utterly scrambled.

* * *

A/N There's nothing quite so... unworldly as the haunting Digeridoo.


	58. Under Xander's Wings see ch25

A/N: Sequel to .net/s/6134172/25/Email_Fluff Under Harry's Thumb.

Again, if you want to continue, go nuts.

* * *

Harry sat down on the bench seat. His black wings extended slightly to avoid scraping the ground. Weird, how all his life he'd wished to have been a bit taller, and now that he was, he found that it wasn't that great.

Harry was quite happy with 'unnatural beauty', though. He'd got funny looks since he'd got off the boat in first year at Hogwarts, so it was quite a nice change for the looks to be admiring.

"Ah, the mail," Ron said, looking up from where he was buttering some toast.

"Oh, more articles," Hermione said, giving Harry a sidelong look. She was only just beginning to get used to walking on hooves, and no where near beginning to drop the matter of how the hooves came to be. "And guess what they're about."

Harry poked through the sheaf of newspaper cuttings. Hermione had opened an account with a firm to send her any newspaper articles regarding what had happened to any Muggleborns (or, as the purebloods now regarded them, demons.) "I'm going to go out on a limb and guess me."

"For once, you're wrong," Hermione said. "This is yesterday's Salem Seer, from America, and it's about the Slayer's friends on the Hellmouth in California."

Both of them ignored Ron's shudder at the word Hellmouth.

"You're not going to believe this," Hermione said, reading the cutting. "It says that..."

* * *

"These wizards think that Willow's some kind of sex demon, you're some kind of angel-demon-thing, and Xander, Xander of all people," Buffy said, lost for words.

"Er, quite," Giles said. "A pair of minor celebrities performed a practical joke in front of a crowd of wizarding children on top of a leyline nexus, the event was publicized in a number of newspapers, and now wizards around the world believe that wizarding children born of nonmagical stock are, in truth, demons or changelings. And, if you'll recall Marcie Ross, belief..."

"... can make it happen," Buffy finished. "Great. So. Run it past me again."

"Alright," Giles said. "Now. Let's see. W-Willow performed her ensouling of Angelus, and you must understand that normally only a highly skilled practitioner of the Art would be able to cast a, a spell of that magnitute pertaining to the soul, although the fact that it is a curse does make it, er, slightly easier to cast..."

"Point, Giles, point pertaining to said newspaper?" Buffy asked, well used to dragging her Watcher back on track.

"Succubi traditionally steal souls from human males during, er, erotic dreams," Giles said, managing not to blush as he discussed this with a teenaged Slayer. "If an entity was a succubi, then a spell like an Ensouling Curse that Willow cast would be greatly simplified, a-and any succubi could cast it."

"She did that on pure talent!" Buffy yelled, insulted on her friend's part.

"The journalist doesn't know that," Giles said patiently. "And my own sordid past was somehow found out by the same journalist. They somehow decided that I am Lily Potter's brother, Lord only knows how, and am a fallen Angel, like Lucifer, a blackwinged Seraphim."

"How did they decide that?" Buffy said, unable to follow the train of thought.

"I can only conjecture that, that they thought the fact that Ethan, Phillip and the rest of our little coterie mainly channeled Gods and Demons rather than actually cast curses and hexes had a deeper meaning to it than simplicity," Giles said, deliberately not going into further detail. Buffy didn't need to know about too much of his past.

"Okay, so that's you and Willow explained," Buffy decided. She paused a moment. "Hey, what do these idiots think of Oz?"

Giles shrugged. "A non-wizard werewolf. They're used to such creatures, although I must admit to some prejudice on their part towards werewolves of any kind."

"The part with Xander is what I really, really don't get," said Buffy.

"Alright," Giles sighed. "Xander has never cast any spells, so the journalist is certain that he is not a wizard or mage. However, spells cast _through_ Xander typically work very well, Ethan's Halloween being a good example, so the hypothesis is that Xander is what is known as a channel in that he can draw magic, and have it flow through him, but he doesn't create any magic of his own, and in a void area would be completely mundane."

"Alright," Buffy said. "Wonky magic for our X-man. Go on."

"Now, this is where it gets decidedly murky for me as well," sighed Giles. He put down the newspaper and took his glasses off for cleaning. "If I understand this right, since he isn't a wizard, but is a channel, the journalist has decided that rather than being a changeling demon, as with first-generation wizards, a channel is, in fact, a celestial being."

Buffy frowned. "And so we somehow get Archangel Xander."

"Yes. The reporter has decided that our presence and actions confirm Xander's supernatural status."

"That makes no sense!" Buffy yelled. "How does us killing demons and vampires make Xander holy?"

"Ah," Giles said, putting his glasses back on and raising a finger, "but i-if you remember that the reporter considers us to be demons, us killing demons only makes sense if we are either taking part in a war action, _or_ under the influence of a high ranking angel."

"They think that we're only doing the right thing because Xander is making us?" Buffy asked, now highly insulted. It was probably just as well that she had no idea where Salem was, let alone the 'Salem Seer' newspaper operation.

"GILES! G-MAN! You've gotta help me!" Xander yelled, busting through the library double doors.

His problem was obvious. Xander was only wearing a pair of jeans, since his shirt had been ripped to shreds by two pairs of wings. Buffy stared, and not only in shock. Xander's makeover had included a sixpack, muscle elsewhere, general good looks, and another foot in height.

Giles covered his face with his palm, accidentally getting his glasses dirty all over again. "If I ever meet Harry bloody Potter, I'm going to turn him over my knee. Even if he does turn out, against all probability, to be a relative of mine."

* * *

Yes, four wings in total. Probably fits.


	59. Vinegar And Honey

"Up! Get up!"

Harry groaned, rubbed his eyes, and winced as he turned over.

Harry Potter was not a normal little boy. Normal little boys did not sleep in the cupboard, and most especially normal little boys did not require help to walk.

He got dressed quickly (this didn't take very long, owing to the fact that he had next to no clothes to his name, and all of them cast-offs from his much larger cousin), and levered himself up, using the frame of the door to stop himself from collapsing onto the carpet. It was worth a lecture and a smack from Uncle Vernon if he caught him lying on the carpet - "like a layabout delinquent," as Uncle Vernon put it.

Once up and out of his cupboard, Harry took his cane from where he'd had it propped up just inside the cupboard door. He made his way to the kitchen, the pain from his left knee a familiar song that he ignored with familiarity. He nodded to Aunt Petunia, and obediently began to fry up the morning's bacon and eggs.

When Dudley came down from his bedroom (which was next to his second bedroom, full of his broken toys, none of which Harry was allowed to touch), he pushed Harry into the stove, but didn't try and push him over, or steal Harry's cane. He had once, and with a few wellplaced suggestions Harry had put it into Aunt Petunia's head that normal people were courteous to the disabled, as Christian charity.

So Dudley wasn't allowed to, say, kick Harry in his bad knee, or throw his cane over the fence, but Uncle Vernon had no problems with him, say, pushing Harry out of the way a lot more vigorously than needed. ("Energetic little tyke!")

Not that Aunt Petunia realised that the train of thought had come from Harry, of course. He'd become skilled in words, being unable to run from confrontations, and unable to fight well physically.

"Get the mail, Dudley."

"Make Harry get the mail."

"Get the mail, Harry."

Harry sighed. It wasn't worth the fight to try and get Dudley to get the mail, and it helped later when he manipulated the Dursleys if they didn't recall him arguing with them.

* * *

"Most curious... most curious."

"Excuse me sir, but could you do a custom commission?" Harry asked, ignoring Mr Ollivander's mutterings for the time being.

"What would that be?" the old man asked, looking over from where he was starting to file away the wands that didn't match Harry.

"Could you make me a walking cane that looks as nice as your wands?" Harry asked. "I'd be willing to pay for it, of course."

"You do realise that both staffs and staves are both restricted under Ministry law, Mr Potter?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, "but I just want a walking stick that looks nice, and your work looks really, really neat."

"Hmmm," Mr Ollivander mused. Hagrid just looked interested. "I'll use the measurements my tape took for dimensions, and use a timed release shrinking charm to allow for your personal growth, Mr Potter. It will be very interesting, the spellwork, I mean. Perhaps some manner of monitoring charm... any preference as to wood?"

"Ebony? Harry suggested. "I don't want a silver skull or anything on the top, just something simple."

"Very well," Mr Ollivander said. "I'll begin work on it, and owl you with the payment details. If it costs as much as I suspect it could run to, we can sort out some payment plan."

* * *

When Draco Malfoy came across Harry Potter on the Hogwarts Express, he found himself sitting down, sharing Ronald Weasley's corned beef sandwiches, and debating pureblood philosophy, with quite no idea how on earth he'd found himself this way, and also with no idea as to how to get out of it, without throwing a massive tantrum like a five year old (which would be quite un-Slytherin, and he didn't want to chance being sorted into Gryffindor as a result.)

* * *

"Whoever did this should be brought up on charges," Madame Pomfrey muttered angrily. "And whoever treated it deserves to have their mediwizard licence revoked!"

"Um, Dudley had detention for a week," Harry recalled. It was the only time he could recall his uncle not protesting such treatment. "And my GP took me to the hospital."

"A Muggle hospital?" Madame Pomfrey gasped. "You poor dear. If those useless relatives had taken you to Saint Mungo's, your knee could have been fixed there and then. But after all this time I'm afraid it's impossible to fix it."

"Oh," said Harry, looking a little downcast.

* * *

A year later, Harry met up with Mr Ollivander. "Sir, how come I can do some really powerful magic with my walking cane? I mean, it's no good for transfiguring buttons into beetles, but it's really, really strong!"

A twinkle developed in Mr Ollivander's eye. "I suppose a stray phoenix must have put a feather in it while my back was turned. I certainly didn't put it there, since that would be in breach of Ministry law, wouldn't it?"

Harry caught on. "Oh, of course. Do tell me if that mischievous phoenix turns up again, I think I'd like to thank him."

* * *

A/N Vetinari-ish Harry, with no schooling at the Asssassin's guild of course.

* * *

Harry was at St Mungo's, to see a specialist. It wasn't that he didn't trust Madame Pomfrey; he didn't trust anyone.

Well, he trusted them to act in their own best interests, but that was about it.

"Hmmm," the healer hmmm'ed. He poked his wand at Harry's knee again, then consulted Harry's file. Harry couldn't help but notice the unusual amount of time the mediwizard spent on the psychological section.

"Doctor?" Harry prompted.

The man took no offence at the title - healers in Saint Mungo's interacted with enough muggleborns to know that they meant the title 'doctor' in highest respect. "I've got good news, and bad news, young man."

"Can I have the bad news first?" Harry asked.

"The bad news is that, indeed, nothing can be done for your knee at the moment," the healer stated categorically.

"That's close to what Madame Pomfrey said," Harry agreed. "I wanted to be certain, though."

"The good news is that, in your seventh year, the good Madame would have informed you that, at age twenty at the latest, something can indeed be done."

"What... do you mean?"

"I'm only telling you this since you show almost supernatural maturity," the healer said sternly. "Your knee, having been broken and left healed badly for so many years, will require work on your residual subconscious magical self image. If we tried to fix it surgically, then your magic would 'see' it as being wrong, and return it to what it is now."

"I... see," Harry said thoughtfully. "It's always been that way, so my magic thinks that's the way it's supposed to be?"

"Exactly," the healer agreed. "You're quite lucky in that most of the times we see this, dark magic is involved and we can't do this procedure, since the risk of the dark magic leaking into the magical core is too high."

"So why can't you fix my knee now?" Harry asked. "Why when I'm twenty?"

"Because by then, young man, you will have finished growing," the healer explained. "If we were to do it now, then in a years time you would be a foot taller, with a knee much smaller than it should be. The healed joint remains at the same size after the procedure, no matter whether silly things like puberty are going on."

"Why did Madame Pomfrey tell me it couldn't be fixed, then?" Harry demanded.

"Because most young people tend not to believe trained professionals when they say that they must wait, and, rather than going through their *adult* life with a perfectly healed joint, go through their entire life with a badly ruined joint that has been messed around with far too much to properly heal."

"Oh," Harry said. It was depressing, but the man's perception of Harry's yearmates was probably pretty accurate. "Is there anything I can do in the meantime?"

The healer produced a small jar. "This is a topical pain relief potion - rub it into your knee once a week, no more often than that. I'll write you a prescription - Hogwarts has a certified Potions master, and I'm sure he can supply more."


	60. Harry Potter and the Curse'd Friend

"Now, who knows where Platform Nine and Three-quarters is?"

"Oh, it's you, Molly. Here, I'll show you all where to go. AGAIN!"

* * *

"Thanks," Harry said timidly to the two redheaded twins who had helped him get his trunk on the train.

"Now come on, brother mine, Ronnikins is... this way," one of them said.

Harry poked his head out and went exploring, and was horrified.

"Why are they chaining you to the seat?" Harry gasped at the other firstie, who had red hair and seemed gangly to the short Harry.

"Family curse," the redhead said with an air of resignation, and the singsong tone of someone who had explained this a million times, and expected to have to explain another million. "Everyone in the family knows exactly where the rest of the family is, but have no idea whatsoever where anything ELSE is. Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter," Harry said automatically.

"Wow! Are you really?" Ron asked.

* * *

"... you will be representing the House you are sorted into. Weasley, here is your wristband," the strict, greying witch said, slipping a sky blue wristband over Ron Weasley's left hand and tapping it with her wand. It tightened down until it looked like he had a blue strip of skin.

As she closed the double doors behind her, Harry looked at Ron's wrist. "Wow, what's that?"

"Oh, it shocks me if I go past the Hogwart's ward boundaries," Ron explained. "That stops me getting lost away from Hogwarts, and helps the staff find me if I do."

"Does it work?" Hermione Granger asked, fascinated.

Ron shrugged. "Doesn't stop the Twins, but I think they deliberately wander off. Seems to keep Percy onsite MOST of the time... hope it works for me."

Harry had seen first hand what he'd started to think of Ron's little problem on the way to the boats. Ron had kept wandering off, seemingly through no conscious choice of his own, his feet just started to walk in strange directions, and he constantly forgot that he was supposed to be following the trail. If anything, Harry had started to think of him as Inspector Ron, after the Pink Panther movies.

* * *

A distant ancestor of the Weasley clan was a Hibiki. Slightly tweaked from the R1/2 version.


	61. Harry Potter and the Iron Ma

Harry blinked rapidly as he saw people running, screaming. It figured. He travelled across the Continent, and still trouble found him.

"Sorry, boys," Harry murmured, thinking of the invitation he'd received from some German Aurors to their pub, after a seminar he'd given, "but I think I'm going to have to take a raincheck."

His eyes flicked over the mob fleeing across the plaza, sight latching onto a strutting man whose clothes were transfiguring into robes and a garishly overstated horned helmet. The glowing staff the man held was a hint that he was the source of the trouble, as well as the fact that he was the one man who wasn't either terrified or clueless.

"Screw the Statute," Harry said. He flicked his wand, summoning his black dragonhide robes. (Hermione had teasingly called him Sauron the Black the first time she saw him in them.) A second flick overlaid him with a Disillusionment Charm.

"Kneel before me!" the man commanded, before duplicating himself around the square. "I said, KNEEEEEEL!"

"Is this not suitable," the man asked. "Is this not your natural state, that you crave subjugation?"

Harry tuned him out as he carefully watched. While the man was just walking through the crowd, Harry was loathe to actually start anything. He didn't know enough about the man's clothing - was it charmed? Did the man have a shield spell that would deflect offensive spells in random directions - meaning the innocent crowd he was standing in?

He groaned as an old man stood up. This could be very bad. He started preparing a suitable spell.

"Not to men like you," the old German said.

"There are no men like me," the helmetted man boasted.

"There are always men like you," the older man said, disappointment plain in his tones.

"Look to your elder, people," the troublemaker said, lifting his staff and pointing it at the man. "Let him be an example."

"Let him do as he pleases," Harry snapped, ripping off an Expelliarmus with speed borne of long usage and practice.

"Who are you?" the troublemaker asked. Harry's face was disguised in shadow while he wore the hood, partly to slow down his opponents while they tried to see him, partly to rattle them afterwards.

"Some call me beloved of Death," Harry said. "I've died twice, and I still stand - do you think you can make it stick?"

"Let's not find out," a new voice said.

Harry frowned as a man in an outfit as flamboyant as the troublemaker's helmet was garish dropped in between them, shield held towards the troublemaker.

"Loki, stand down," a hovering ship roared over a public address system. Harry hadn't realised muggle tech had come so far - he had only heard of jets and helicopters.

The staff at Harry's feet rattled as it's owner summoned it back, and he sighed as a fist - or rather, shield and staff and fist - fight started between the man in blue and this 'Loki'. If it was a deity, then Harry was in serious trouble.

The situation wound up being resolved when a flying man in red and gold armour took Loki in at gun, rocket, repulsor, and steel fist point.

* * *

"So, what's life like with no face?" Iron Man, revealed to be Tony Stark, cheerfully asked Harry.

Harry hadn't lowered his hood, and had gone with the path of least resistance - going with the weirdos in flamboyantly garish outfits. He could always Stupefy and Obliviate them later. Besides, the colourful kit reminded him of his old Headmaster.

"I don't know, what's life like with a metal heart?" Harry shot back.

"Quite comfortable," Stark replied. Harry had to admit, he was surprised at how quickly the engineer could spit retorts back. It reminded him of Gred and Forge. "I think in the future everyone will want one. At least until they can realise that no one else will ever be as witty and charming as me, even with one."

"Lower your hood, please," the man in blue requested. Harry had been told that the man was a septic 'hero' called 'Captain America'.

"Do you mind?" Harry asked mildly. "I was having a natter with the ponce, here."

"The what?" Tony asked. "Is that some British slang for me?"

Harry smiled. "No, normally my mates all call you the Iron Maiden."

"No, I'm Iron Man. Definitely man. You can ask all my ex'es."

"I dunno," Harry said. "With the baps on the armour, plus the Aces High clip on the news..."

"Do I have to strip to get some respect, here?"

"For all our sakes, I implore you not to," Loki said, speaking up with a smirk. "Iron Maiden."

"That's Iron MAN."

"Maiden."

"Man."

"Maiden."

"Man."

And that was when lightning struck the flying ship thing, and they wound up in a fight with Loki's brother.

* * *

A/N This whole snippet was to use the Iron Maiden thing. Yes, I'm petty. It made me laugh heartily when I thought of it at work.

The slang was just for the sheer hell of it. Harry doesn't actually THINK Stark is a woman, he's just having fun pulling his chain.

* * *

Nick Fury was pissed.

Partly at the situation at hand, but also that his natural ground state was increasingly 'pissed at whatever'.

"Alright, 'Death'," he snarled out, flinging a handful of pages onto the conference table. "A German Ministry I never even knew existed has decided to make you a special case. As well as the English Prime Minister. The moment your picture hit the news, Bulgaria and France started screaming at us as well."

Harry shrugged. "I've done a lot of things, for a lot of people. Some of them remember, that's all."

"Why were you in Germany?" Fury asked.

"I was asked by the Bundesministerium der Magie to help train a special response team," Harry said. "And if you didn't recognise that name, then I'm afraid that I cannot legally tell you any more."

"Then why did you come with my team back here?"

"Two reasons," Harry began. "I didn't want to drag normal Polizei into it while they were very, very busy dealing with the fallout. I suspect that several people are very unhappy with your... helicopter? Was it? Pointing the gun or whatever it was at a plaza full of people."

"And two?" Fury growled.

"Your organisation is not recognised by MY government," Harry growled, for the first time. "We never recognised SHIELD as being necessary for the continuation of the world. But it's still easier to go along with it, until the blunt axe of diplomacy is in place."

Fury glared at some monitors, hands behind his back, while he considered. "Get out."

Harry happily left for a loo, where a slight popping noise could be heard.

"Agent Hill? Assign someone to find out every single fact they can about this... 'Bundesministerium der Magie'. As well as what prompted Bulgaria, France, and Britain to leap to this person's aid. I'd also like an image search, as well as voice algorithm processing done on that individual."

* * *

A/N Google Translate, probably hilariously inappropriately.

I'm bringing the issue that Harry is still a wizard into this, with the wizarding world's screwy ideas on jurisdiction as well.

Why was Harry in Germany in the first place? Most people missed a line - Harry was going to a pub at the invitation of some German Aurors. He was in Germany for a series of training days, at the invitation of the German Federal Ministry of Magic.


	62. Harry Potter and his Magical Cat

"Vernon, that blasted cat is prowling around again! I won't have it! The thing digs up my rosebeds, and wakes the street up!"

"I'll pick up some poison on the way home tomorrow, Pet, we'll sort it out soon enough."

* * *

Harry was not stupid enough to tell Aunt Petunia this, but part of the reason that the feral cat had been hanging around was because he had been feeding it scraps of bacon that he'd pocketed during the morning fry-ups.

He'd almost gotten it to let him pat it, too. But he wasn't fearless enough to throw the rat-poison-laden meat into the rubbish, especially when Uncle Vernon got up every hour to check on it. Harry watched, depressed, as the cat found the treat and scoffed it. What made it worse was that if he hadn't fed it, the cat would have been paranoid about finding free food lying around.

Harry followed it back to it's sleeping place, where it fell asleep for the last time. And he got the surprise of his life when he found a little black kitten there, with white socks and a white bib. It must have been a lady cat.

He spirited it under the stairs. He might have failed it's mother, badly, but he looked down at the kitten. It was scared out of it's wits, shaking, staring up at him with wide eyes, silent in it's fear.

He wouldn't let this little one be murdered.

* * *

"Please be quiet!" Harry whispered, laying scraps of beef down from the crockpot he'd been preparing earlier.

The kitten looked up at the four year old with a decidedly cynical glint in it's eyes. Then it bent down and began to lap at the meat before it ate it, keeping a wide eye on the human in front of it.

"I knew you were smart," Harry breathed. He grinned. "I bet you're as smart as me!"

* * *

Over the years, the kitten became a cat. But even then, it was still small. When he was five, and the cat turned one, Harry decided on a name. 'Misto', even though Misto was black and white, and not all black.

"Who took one of the pork sausages? Those were for tonights tea! Boy... if you..."

Vernon looked up. "Couldn't have been the boy, Pet, he's been cleaning in here."

Half an hour later, Harry was in his cupboard. "How did you do that? They were in the fridge, and a little cat like you couldn't open that big door. And how did you get it without disturbing anything else? Aunt Petunia would have gone spare if you had."

"Mrrow."

* * *

"Dursley, I see you didn't do your homework."

"I did, sir, it was in my book! Right... here?"

"Nonsense, boy. Detention!"

Harry looked over. There was a faint edge in the middle of Dudley's workbook where, with imagination, another leaf might have been.

He grinned.

Good old Misto. He'd known that Harry hated doing Dudley's homework.

* * *

A/N No, Misto is NOT a kneazle. He's just a Felis Domesticus, augmented by a Harryis Potteris Magicus Subconscious.

* * *

Harry looked up at the doors. "Wow."

"Yeh, you'd have to be mental to rob Gringotts."

"Mew. Mew. Mew. Mew. Mew."

"'Ere, 'ow'd 'e get in there? 'Ere you go, Harry."

Harry took Misto, a bit rumpled from appearing in Hagrid's coat pocket (strange, considering they'd seen him sitting in the hut doorway, eating the last of Vernon's 'rations', a bag of dried meat.) He put him down, after Misto mewed some more.

"Now... key, key..."

* * *

Harry came back up from the vaults to pandemonium.

"There! It's over there!"

A short goblin woman dressed in black was waving around a staff twice her height, with feathers and claws tied to one end. "Begone, demon!"

Harry heard a familiar mew. "Misto!"

The little black and white cat jumped into his arms, a sheet of parchment in his mouth. 'Last Deed And Testament' was all Harry read before a spear appeared between eyes and parchment.

"'Ere, if you ain't Harry Potter, hand that over right now!" a goblin guard demanded, then saw who he was talking to. "Er, nevermind."

The goblin woman shook her staff at Misto. "Begone!"

"You leave my cat alone!"

"That's no cat, that's a demon of chaos in fur!"

"You leave my cat alone!"

* * *

A/N: Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats.

* * *

Harry rubbed his eyes.

"What is it, Misto?"

"Mmrrroooow."

He looked down. Sometimes Misto brought him dead mice (he patted him, called him a good boy, and let him eat it, normally), but in this case he'd brought what looked like a large chunk of red amber.

"Is this..."

Harry lifted it to the light, where it refracted strangely. He flicked through a book quickly, then dropped the rock and picked up Misto.

"Who's a clever cat, yes you are, yes you are..."

He didn't have to worry about Quirrel now. Not when he had the Philosopher's Stone and Quirrel had no idea he was even interested in it.


	63. My Little Harry

Harry had managed to plonk himself in front of a unicorn who was going to teach him more magic.

It sounded inconsequential, the act of sitting down, but considering that he was still not used to having four legs, an equine body (with equine joint movement, not human), and occassionally his head still got knocked when he forgot about his horn and it hit something... he was happy.

"Now, colt, your Mark indicates you have some magical ability above the norm," the teacher said.

Harry twisted his longer-than-human neck around to look at the marking next to his arse. It was a black line, with red lightning coming out the end. It didn't stand out too much on his browny-red coat, but was there.

"My... 'cutie mark'?" Harry asked.

Both of the Royal Guards in the room winced.

The teacher unicorn looked at them, inquiry plain, and one of them spoke up. "Colt, we've met those two Diamond Dogs you claim were friends with your Sire. Sirius and Romulus, was it? Now, do you want to tell them you have a Cutie Mark, or a Stud Stamp?"

This didn't take much thought on Harry's part. Sirius was still getting a lot of mileage from the first time Harry got distracted while walking in this unicorn body, and his horn got horribly stuck in a doorframe. He still put a cork on the tip when Harry woke up.

"You're absolutely right, sir," Harry agreed.

It was low brow, but Harry felt he did get his revenge, so to speak, on Sirius the first time they went to the loo afterwards. Unicorns were mostly horses, after all, and horses were massively better hung than dogs.

* * *

Rarity and Pinkie Pie had invited their friends (collectively the 'Mane Six', as the ponyrazzi had dubbed them) to a picnic, where they were chatting and catching up on each other's lives.

"So, Twi', what's your new roomie like?" Rainbow Dash asked.

"You mean Harry?" Twilight Sparkle asked. "Er, okay, I guess. He's still set on finding a way to fly."

"Not likely in this lifetime," Rainbow Dash sniggered. "He's a unicorn, not a pegasus."

"Perhaps, but if I may... he is ENORMOUS!" Rarity interjected.

A bite of ginger crunch fell from Applejack's mouth at this.

"I know!" Twilight agreed. "It's been awhile since I saw a stallion with one that big."

"Do you think it's painful?" Rarity asked. "There are physical considerations, after all."

"Well," Twilight paused, "the mornings are a bit slow sometimes. But I think that's down to not settling into a good routine yet."

"Hmmm," Rarity hummed noncomittally. "My father always said it wasn't what you had, it was how you used it."

"Maybe, but you can't deny that being able to use more is always good," Twilight rebutted.

"Now stop raht there," Applejack said firmly. "Ah won't stand to heah you two gossip like a pair of unico-er, a pair... I won't stand for this kind of dirty talk!"

"I don't mind," Rainbow Dash said, happily eating some popcorn that Pinkie Pie had produced out of nowhere.

'squeak'

Twilight Sparkle looked at Applejack weirdly. "Er, Applejack, what do you think we're talking about?"

Applejack blushed brightly under her fur. "Goings... on!"

"Dear, we were just talking about his horn," Rarity said. "Most unicorns do, you know."

"So, Twi', how hung is your boyfriend?" Rainbow Dash asked. "C'mon. We're all mares here, and no stallion ever said no to more in his herd."


	64. Happi Harry

While Harry was five, he felt he was very mature for his age. Enough so that he knew he wanted no part of his 'guardians', who didn't guard him so much as act as wardens.

The only problem was that he had nowhere else to go. He'd tried anonymous tip-offs to the Department of Children, Schools, and Families. No good. He'd tried complaining to the school nurse. Oddly, he always got a positive response in the first day or two, but after that the people involved had a complete one eighty in personality and approach.

So, when someone actually stood up for him, Harry latched onto them like bitter onto beer.

"Haha, freak!"

Harry tried pressing his hands against the tin fence behind him. Dudley and his gang had managed to corner him in a dead end, and as it was he already had a black eye, bruises, and a bleeding lip.

"Why don't you boys find something else to do?" an elderly voice asked.

Harry blinked. A little old Asian man barely taller than the boys themselves had magically appeared between Harry and Dudley's gang. He was barefoot, in some kind of brown Asian clothes.

"Piss off, grandpa!" Dudley brayed, with the brash confidence of someone who knew the old man was not local, and that his father had made every other victim go away, somehow.

The old man puffed on a pipe idly, waiting. When Dudley tried to hit him, the old man did... something... and the obese boy went flying onto the roof. When Dudley's gang tried to enact revenge, after the dust had settled, somehow they were a groaning pile of flesh, bones, blood and rags, with the little old man puffing on his pipe on top.

"Thank you, sir!" Harry gasped. He'd never had anyone stand up for him like that before!

"Not a problem, m'boy!" the old man grinned. "I'm Happosai. A wandering martial artist, admiring beauty the world over."

"Can I come with you? My name is Harry Potter, and I have to live with this asshole."

Not that Harry would have used that word if Dudley had been around and conscious - while Aunt Petunia didn't mind Dudley saying it ("Precocious!"), it was worth a mouthful of soap for a week if word got back to her that Harry did.

"Hmmm," Happosai mused, tapping his pipe on one of the alley's brick wall. "I can't take you with me, but I can teach you a move or two."

* * *

A week later, Harry knew some basic grappling throws that Master Happosai had taught him, ones that a small, not very strong figure could do against much heavier foes. The old man had treated Harry to tea at a chippy shop, earning him Harry's eternal friendship, then Harry received the bad news.

Master Happosai intended to move on, without Harry.

So, after he knew Happosai had left, Harry immediately started walking. He didn't know how, but somehow he knew the old man was... this way...

* * *

Arriving at Madam Malkin's, the eleven year old Harry pulled a pair of bloomers out of his dirty white gi. Outside, a girl with bubblegum pink hair started patting herself down, as she realised that something... was wrong...

"Bloomers? With her figure, curves, and... bloomers?"

"Here, what are you doing with those?"

Little sparkles seemed to bloom in Harry's eyes as he looked up at (presumably) Madam Malkin. "What are these, miss?"

"Oh, you poor thing," Madam Malkin coo'ed. "Did a redheaded pair of twins give you those?"

A Harry (reluctantly) raised by Happosai had no problems with palming consequences off on some poor suckers. "Yeah, they said these are good luck charms!"

A black scowl crossed Madam Malkin's face as she took the bloomers, putting them on a back table. "Come on, I'll help you with your new Hogwarts robes. First year?"

* * *

Once outside, Harry pocketed the pink girl's bloomers again. He had pinched the young assistant's brassiere while he was in the robes shop, but didn't even think of stealing Madam Malkin's underwear. He had his standards!

* * *

Fifteen year old Harry sat down to the table in the Great Hall for tea, and pulled out a lacey black pair of panties, sniffing them appreciatively.

"Harry, aren't those," Ron began to ask, edging away from the other boy as he spotted a female in full rage beginning to stalk (awkwardly, with no underwear) over to their table.

"Greengrass's?" Harry finished. "These are going in my collection!"

"No, they're going back in my chest of drawers, after I've taught you a lesson," an angry girl said from behind him.

Harry dumped the black lacey panties on Ron's head then sprinted for the huge double doors to the Great Hall, pulling a lacey black silk bra out of his shirt and stroking it. "Oooh, C-cup! I can't wait till you finish growing!"

Snape sniffed at the teachers' table. "That brat, just like..."

"... Sirius Black," Sinistra finished, with a dreamy little smile on her face.

* * *

A/N I'm not sure where this came from.


	65. Lucy-ius Malfoy

(First Voldemort-DE-murder era)

Lucius sneered. "Filthy muggle vermin."

"What was that?" the woman asked. She was tall, with red hair and green eyes, and a closely fitting green skirt and blouse.

Lucius let his wand dangle from his fingertips. "Yet another filthy muggle bitch, only good for fun, and even then you spread your infestation nine months after. Even mudblood whores have some use as servants, but slag like you have no use at all, save as target practice... one way or another."

"Why are you saying this?" the woman asked. Strangely, Lucius could see no fear in her eyes.

Odd, really. "I love the look in the eyes, when even muggle intellect realise what the inevitable outcome is when you come up against your naturally blooded superior." Lucius took a firm grip on his wand. "Make sure to scream nicely, vermin."

"I advise YOU to scream quietly," the woman hissed, angry rather than afraid. "Men like it when their conquest shows pleasure, but don't like being deafened. From bastard to bitch, from scratcher to itch, may you only find pleasure, while laying back in leisure."

"What do you think-" Lucius began, before blacking out.

* * *

He woke to find Narcissa looking at him oddly.

"What do you want, Narcy?" he snapped, then paused. His voice had been decidedly odd.

"Mind your words, girl," Narcissa said coldly. "I am the one with a wand here, not you. I want answers as to where Lucius is."

"I AM Lucius!" he roared, each word sounding even more odd. "A mirror. I need a mirror."

Narcissa transfigured a rock into a small polished silver handmirror (always elegant, even in a rush.) Lucius stared into it, aghast.

"A... a... that muggle somehow turned me into a..."

* * *

Lucius, to his, rather her, horror, found herself responding to Lucy easier than Lucius, and eying up slim, muscled wizards rather than buxom witches.

She took prompt action. While the Malfoy name had no heir, presently, Lucy(-ius) decided not to muck around, and took a Gender Reversal Potion. To her horror, she found intercourse with Narcissa disjointed at best, even when he (after months, finally HE!) tried mentally fantasizing.

Lucy could only assume it was the female body, warping her-HIS! mind the longer he wore it. If it wasn't for the criminally high price of Gender Reversal Potion, he'd be living on it.

Nine months later (to Lucy's relief... she'd been aghast at the thought of being unable to sire an heir) Narcissa produced their offspring.

Draka Malfoy, a healthy baby girl with blonde hair, grey eyes, and an inability due to gender to inherit in accordance with House Malfoy law.

Consulting with a medi-witch (with a privacy oath in exchange for far too much gold, in Lucy's opinion) had revealed that a female-female match only rendered female offspring, whether it was through alchemy or through potions.

Lucy fell into a deep depression.

* * *

Narcissa was exploring the small wood where Lucius, now Lucy, had been so permanently altered. Not transfigured - she was not McGonagall, but she could still tell when something was transfigured, and this went beyond that. Whenever she had time, she explored the wood that Lucy avoided, now, searching for the redheaded woman with green eyes, to beg her mercy.

"Are you looking for someone?" a male voice asked.

She looked up, to see a man with black hair and blue eyes. "Yes," she said, quickly describing the woman. "Have you seen her?"

"I should hope so," the man said, with a twinkle in his eye, "since she is my wife. Why do you search?"

"My husband was turned into a woman by her, and I want for us to be a happy couple again," Narcissa said, tears arriving in her eyes. Despite Lucius' many flaws, she did love him. Her. "I will give anything!"

"Anything?" the man asked, head tilted.

"My oath on it," Narcissa said, magic flaring to affirm it.

"It is not wise to offer the Fae literally anything they wish," the man said. "But... yes. And I think my wife will approve of this solution as well."

Narcissa began to have an inkling that perhaps she should have left well enough alone.

"Reception to giver, another life to live, let you be a couple, with you no longer so supple."

* * *

"Narcissa?" a worried voice woke her.

"Yes?" she said, starting to worry as her own voice sounded odd.

"Oh, Narcy," Lucy's new voice said, sounding resigned. "Shall we call you Narcissus, now?"

She... he... quickly realised what had happened. A quick grope confirmed it.

* * *

"Alright," Lucy said. She was fearful, since she'd never experimented with anything of the sort, not with Narcissa, and CERTAINLY not with anyone else. (Malfoy wedding vows were not to be trifled with, for female Malfoys at least.) "But only if both you and I are on birth control potions, and we use one of those Muggle things, too. With that woman's sense of humour, it might be the only thing that works."

Puck had been enjoying watching the pair with a scrying spell, ever since the older one had annoyed and insulted Titania to her face. And anyone familiar with his sense of humour will realise what, or who, appeared nine months later.


	66. Third Task! Next Problem!

Harry paced for a moment. "Spy, er..."

He really wished Hermione was here. She could have told him the answer to the Sphinx'es riddle, but then again, while Harry wasn't going to beat out Professor Hawking, he wasn't Dudley.

"A creature I wouldn't want to kiss... a spider!"

The exotic creature smiled at him, with her human woman's head on her lionness body, and got up to let him past.

An imp of mischief rose in Harry (the same one that prompted him to backchat Dudley whenever he got the chance, and only erupted around Snape when he was really worked up.)

"What have I got in my pockets?" Harry asked, before his common sense got the better of him.

The sphinx laughed, long and hard, with her hoarse voice. Finally settling down, she considered it, eying Harry. "Considering the habits of most wizards, I'd say your wand. In one of your back pockets."

Harry pulled his wand out, from where it was indeed in a back pocket. "Er, I guess that was easy."

"Another one?" she asked.

"Okay," Harry said, sidetracked. Upon reflection, he wasn't actually sure WHY he wanted to win so much, it wasn't as if Hogwarts would like him any better.

"Alright, what is in seasons, seconds, centuries and minutes but not in decades, years or days?" she asked him, an enigmatic smile on her face.

Harry paused to think it over. After writing the words in the dirt, the answer dawned on him, and he told the sphinx.

"Correct! Your turn," she said.

"Er, okay," Harry said, "Um. What has a head, a tail, is brown, and has no legs?"

The sphinx answered him in a flash, adding, "You really should make these a bit harder."

"Sorry," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've never asked riddles like this before."

A bell rang out, and the sphinx looked up, rising to all four leonine feet. "That sounds like someone found the Triwizard Cup."

"Thanks," Harry said. "It's been fun, I hope I meet you again some time."

Always polite, Harry offered his hand to the sphinx, who managed to shake it, somehow wrapping one paw-finger like a thumb, opposed to the rest of her front paw.

Then Harry felt a sharp hook in his navel, and somehow he was completely unsurprised. He never had a pleasant time like this without SOMETHING bad happening.

* * *

When things settled down, Harry looked around to see a very dusty room, made of yellow stone blocks painted in once-bright colours of people, animals, and hieroglyphs, lit only by a golden orb fixed in the ceiling. Two doors were present, each in an opposing wall.

"What... where are we?" Harry asked.

"Oops, I should have realised," the sphinx said. "I had a portkey made to take me back to my home immediately - I hate being away, when someone could steal from that which I protect."

"Ooops," Harry said. "Er, sorry."

"It's okay," the sphinx said. "There should be a Gringotts camp nearby - I have an understanding with them; they leave my tombs alone, and I leave their entrails alone. Just go through the door."

"Okay," Harry said, jogging over to the nearest door and pushing hard. "See you later, then."

"NO! Not that... door..." the sphinx groaned as a brilliant red light flashed, hiding Harry for a moment.

"What... what happened?" Harry asked in a weak voice. "And what happened to... my... arms?"

"The curse of the Pharoah," the sphinx sighed. "It's the other reason the goblins leave my tombs alone. Any of them who try wind up as guardians, and we cannot steal from each other."

Giving up on getting up, the new sphinx lifted a forepaw, inspecting it and the claws that emerged from their sheathes with a flex. "Wizard! Have I got a mane? Where'd my wand go?"

"About that..." the sphinx said. "I wouldn't bother trying to get up if I were you; the shock will be settling in soon. And no, I don't know of any countercurse."

* * *

A/N Had this in my head for a few weeks now, don't really know where it would go. The bones of it (the curse) come from Arania's art (VERY NSFW, very explicit). I suspect D'dore would push hard for Harry to retain his legal rights, don't know what else would happen.


End file.
